


Coming To

by cheekiestcheeky



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Copious Amounts of Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Up All Night era, if i had a guinea pig i would name him harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 59,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekiestcheeky/pseuds/cheekiestcheeky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has been acting strange--distant, distracted, and like someone rather unlike his usual cheerful self. He thinks he's hiding it, but Harry's never been one to be fooled. As Harry catches on and the truth is revealed, friendship blossoms and matures into something a bit more as one boy finally comes to terms with himself.</p><p>Or alternatively, the one where Louis thinks he's gay and Harry helps him get things sorted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Look

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii, I've been posting this on tumblr (cheekiestcheeky) for a while now, and I'm transferring my fics over here. It's a work in progress, but it only has a few chapters left, if all goes as planned. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, I claim nothing, but I wish I could.

He had done it again.   
He had given him that look.   
  
 _That_  look.  
  
That lingering look that Harry still didn’t know how to place.   
That look that seemed to be joining Louis’ face almost permanently.  
At least whenever Harry looked at him.  
  
But no, Harry realized as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. It wasn’t always there. Only occasionally would he catch a glimpse of it, in passing. A moment of… uncertainty. Louis’ laughter would hitch, his grand smile would falter, his eyes would hold a hint of distance, and then it was gone. In the matter of a second, Normal Louis would be back again, laughing at something one of the lads had said and ruffling Harry’s hair as though nothing had happened. And if Harry ever asked him about it, Louis would only ever say just that—it was nothing. He was tired or distracted or just lost in his thoughts for a sec. “Nothing to worry ‘bout, mate, I’m fine,” he would assure him with a cheeky grin.   
  
Harry let out a tired sigh, shaking his head as he fell back on his mattress. Sure he was fine. He was always fine. But Harry couldn’t shake that look from his mind, not this time around.   
  
That look, it just seemed… sad. That’s what it was—sadness.   
Sadness that Louis wasn’t sharing with anyone, not even Harry.   
And that hurt.   
  
But whatever it was that was bugging his friend so much, Harry wasn’t going to let his best mate suffer it alone, not any longer.   
  


**

  
  
“I smell food.”   
  
Harry glanced over his shoulder at the voice, grinning as Louis shuffled into the kitchen area of the flat, rubbing the tired from his eyes with the heel of his hand. The older boy breathed in deeply at the aroma as he plopped down into a chair, letting a silly smile conquer his features. “Smells delicious,” he commented.   
  
“Good,” Harry replied, “‘cause you’re eating it.”   
  
“Mm, have I ever told you that you’re too good to me?” Louis asked, already slicing into a pile of muffin, bacon and egg that Harry had slid in front of him. “Or,” he paused, stilling his motions altogether, “you’re doing all of this to try and get something out of me…”   
  
“Me?” Harry let out a chuckle, trying his best to cover up the nervousness that had inevitably snuck upon him. “Like what?”  
  
“Not sure,” Louis answered honestly, narrowing his eyes as he watched Harry move about the kitchen, finishing up his work. The younger boy didn’t look too suspicious, though he was wearing a pleasant smile upon his lips, which was definitely out of place for this time in the morning. Harry never was much of one for mornings, after all. But it was just a pleasant smile. If he were trying to get something out of him, it would be obvious, Louis decided. Harry was also never too good at lying; he was one of those boys who would end up smirking and laughing his way through a blatant lie. But this was just a smile.   
  
And it was way too early to be doing all of this thinking.   
“Or maybe you’re just being nice because you love me,” Louis settled, grinning cheekily.  
  
The younger of the two smirked, taking the seat across from him. “That, or I’m just trying to fatten you up. You’ve been stealing quite a lot of my fans lately, you know.”   
  
“Aw, is little Hazza worried?” Louis laughed around a mouthful of muffin.   
  
“I’m not  _worried_ ,” Harry said, though his cheeks warmed to a brilliant shade of rosy pink.   
  
“Well,” Louis coughed to cover up another laugh, “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, so long as you don’t shave your head. And besides, it’s not like I’m going to go running around, stealing your little base of groupies.”   
  
“Thank god, since you’ve got Eleanor.”   
  
Louis’ features faltered slightly at the statement and he bowed his head, poking around at his plate of food. “Right,” he reiterated, tone softer, “‘cause I’ve got Eleanor.”   
  
“Lucky you’ve got her,” Harry said, seemingly oblivious to the change overcoming his bandmate. “I mean, if I were you—”  
  
“These eggs Benedict are cooked to perfection,” Louis interrupted, rather loudly. He blanched the second the words left his mouth and mentally scolded himself; that certainly was not his grandest moment.  _Smooth, Lou, real smooth._  
  
The outburst was enough of an oddity to cause Harry to look up from his own plate. But by the time he did, Louis’ gaze was already averted, his head bowed, and his cheeks burning.   
  
Well. That was odd.  
  
“Um,” Harry stammered for a moment, furrowing his brow as he watched his friend, before settling with an uncertain, “Thanks?”  
  
The older boy kept his head down while he speared the last chunk of food and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowed deeply, and then glanced up shortly with a hint of a smile as he added, “You’re welcome.” His voice lacked its general level of chipper, but Louis didn’t give Harry a chance to question it as he dropped his dish in the sink and headed out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Mind if I use the shower first? Thanks, buddy!”   
  
And with that he was gone, leaving a confused Harry sitting in the kitchen, more than a bit baffled as to what had just taken place.   
  
Harry wasn’t innocent during this fiasco, though. He had been paying attention, observing like a scientist may curiously observe a subject in its natural habitat, trying to pinpoint what exactly makes it tick, what’s driving it to behave in the manner it is. He would have had to have been an idiot not to have noticed his friend’s antsy behavior, Louis’ discomfort and urge to get out of there, the change in his tone, the  _blushing_ , all of which occurred around the mention of one thing and one thing only—Eleanor. 


	2. Guinea Pig

“You’re being awfully quiet today,” Liam noted as he settled into the couch between Louis and Niall, bowl of popcorn refilled to the brim. His observation went unnoticed by the boy at whom it was directed, but the rest of the boys in the room turned at the response of silence.   
  
“You alright there, buddy?” Niall tried. “Louis?”  
  
Louis jumped at the attention, eyes widening as he came to and found four sets of eyes glued to him. “Sorry?” he said, rather uneasily while appearing to shrink into his corner of the couch.   
  
“I asked if you’re okay,” the Irish lad reiterated, still leaning forward to peer around Liam at Louis.   
  
“Me?” Louis sounded flabbergasted. “I’m fine.”  
  
Liam’s brow shot upward. “Really? You’ve barely said a word all afternoon. Usually we can’t get you to shut up for five minutes during a movie.”   
  
The older boy just shrugged, a slight, albeit forced smile overcoming his lips. “I’m fine,” he repeated, “just… thinking.”   
  
A collective sigh took over the room.   
  
“What?”   
  
“It never ends well, whenever you get to thinking, whatever it is,” Zayn explained, tapping the side of his head as he said it.   
  
“So I’m not allowed to think?” Louis asked, taking the pillow he had been leaning on and hugging it to his chest instead, letting a frown pull down his lips as he did so.   
  
“Not like that you’re not,” Zayn answered for the others, who were all shaking their heads in mutual disagreement. “You get lost in your thoughts and you’ll be there for hours, days maybe.”   
  
“You guys make me sound depressed,” the oldest boy mumbled. He received four raised brows in reply. “Guys!” he shouted, sounding more like Normal Louis than he had all afternoon. “I’m not depressed! Now let’s just get back to this movie because, lads, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Hermione’s finally starting to look like a woman in this one.”   
  
The others shook their heads at the eldest boy and turned their attention back toward the television, letting the topic slide. All of them, except for Harry. The youngest of the group, lounging the length of the other couch, kept his gaze locked on Louis. He stared at the other boy with a curious, yet worried look. Louis did not often fall victim to his thoughts like this, and that look—that far-off, distant, sad look—was clouding his features yet again. He would have studied his mate longer, but Louis finally turned toward him, feeling his gaze lingering for far too long.  _What?_  The older boy mouthed, a crease across his brow.   
  
 _You okay?_  Harry mouthed back, sending a questioning thumbs-up or thumbs-down along with it.   
  
Louis nodded, smiling again, though still unconvincingly so, and gave Harry two thumbs-up.  _More than good_ , he replied. Harry looked nothing short of skeptical, and Louis rolled his eyes in a rather dramatic manner at the boy across the room.  _I’m fine_ , he mouthed.  _Really._    
  
And with nothing more, he cocked his head in the direction of the TV before turning and setting his gaze upon it without any further communication. That, as far as Louis was concerned, was the end of it.   
  


**

  
  
Harry wasn’t quite finished yet, though.   
He had some other things in mind.   
Some things to talk about.   
  
And he had every intention of getting his bandmate to talk about them, no matter what. Failure was not an option at this point, not if losing meant standing on the sidelines as his best mate lost to his own thoughts all the time.   
  
Not if losing meant sitting back and watching his friend turn into a completely different person.   
  
“Is it Eleanor, though?” Harry asked later that night, voice getting a bit hesitant as he followed Louis out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He had managed to corner the Doncaster lad for a good old heart-to-heart before heading to bed. Such a heartfelt conversation, though, wasn’t on Louis’ list of pre-sleep activities, and as Harry soon found out, he wasn’t too fond of the idea of such an addition either.   
  
Louis stilled in his steps for a short moment, turning to look at the younger lad. “Why would you automatically assume this has anything to do with her?”   
  
Harry searched the space around him for an answer before shrugging. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “Seems like the only thing left that could be bothering you so much. So is it?”   
  
Louis sighed, clicking his tongue as he shook his head and continued on toward the living room. “I don’t want to talk about it.”   
  
“So there is? There’s something wrong?” Harry continued pestering, following nearly on the other boy’s heels like an eager puppy.   
  
“Just let it go, Harry,” Louis nearly yelled, though his teeth were gritted, jaw clenched.   
  
“But are things okay with her?”  
  
“There’s nothing  _with_  Eleanor to be ‘okay’ with, Harry!” Louis turned on the younger boy as he said it, stopping in his tracks and nearly causing the curly-haired lad to bump right into him. But the collision was avoided, as Harry stopped and Louis’ eyes widened as soon as the words left his mouth.   
  
It took Harry a second to gain the meaning from the words, to understand what Louis had actually meant. As the words finally sunk in, he arched one dark brow, uncertain. “You mean to say,” he started with a voice much softer than before, “you two are through?”  
  
Their light eyes stayed locked in the following minute, the time it took for Louis to finally muster up the courage to say something. With his shoulders sagged, he nodded a very stiff, tiny nod and confirmed in a voice too small to be his own, “Yeah.”   
  
“How long?”  
  
“A while now.”  
  
“A while now?” Harry echoed, shaking his head. “The hell does that mean?”   
  
“It means we’ve been through a while now. A few months, maybe a bit longer,” Louis explained. He rubbed his left arm with his right hand, uncertain of how to hold himself under his friend’s stare that was brushing upon a thick glare. Harry’s jaw was jutted a bit forward, the way it always was when he was trying his best not to flip out. But despite how angry the younger boy looked, when he finally spoke he sounded nothing short of sad.   
  
“But you can’t be,” he said. Confused. “You… you just went to spend the long weekend with her, up at hers?” He sounded more lost than anything else.   
  
“Yeah, as friends, Harry. We’re friends, still, and I’ll always adore her, we’re just not… together anymore.” Louis tried on a smile for size. It almost fit.   
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Why not what?”  
  
“I mean, why aren’t you together anymore? You two were near perfect for one another, it doesn’t make sense why you—”  
  
“Because I’m messed up, Harry!”   
  
The younger boy shrunk back at the volume of the other’s voice, as though stung by the anger. Louis rarely ever lost his temper with the boys, especially not with Harry.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Louis apologized quickly, sincerity in his tone as he reached out and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, waiting until Harry brought his eyes up from the floor. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just…” He trailed off, another shake of the head. “I don’t know. I’m just—”  
  
“Messed up,” Harry supplied. “Why do you say that?”   
  
“Because I am?” Louis sighed and let go of his friend as he turned away. His arms swung and he looked toward the ceiling as though the off-white paint might have held all of the words and answers he was looking for. Unfortunately for him, it was only a ceiling, and he turned back toward Harry with the greatest smile he could manage at the moment. The smile that would seem the most sincere, the most honest to fit his words. And honesty would help, he so dearly hoped as he stated in an anxious voice, “I’m gay.”  
  
There was silence at first.   
  
Silence in which Harry only stared at his friend, his elder by two years, the joker of the group. The joker. This must have been another joke, though not a very good one.   
  
Then he broke the silence with a good-hearted chortle. “You’re joking,” he said, though the look in his bright eyes clung to uncertainty.   
  
Louis’ features twitched at the statement, his smile fading by the slightest smidge. “I’m not joking, Harry,” he tried to correct him. “I  _am_  gay.”   
  
“No, you’re not,” Harry stated. He stated it, his tone certain, head shaking to deny his best mate’s claim. He couldn’t be, anyway. “You…” he stumbled through his thoughts, tripping over words. “You and Eleanor, and… and the ones before her. You  _like_  girls, Louis, I  _know_  you do.”  
  
The older boy shrugged. “Maybe not as much as I thought,” he offered.   
  
“As you thought?” Harry asked, incredulously, eyes bugging. “What kind of thinking is needed there? You either do or you don’t, Louis. It doesn’t take much thought. How do you even know?”  
  
“I just do.”  
  
“But how?” You’ve never been with a guy before,” Harry was rambling off and then came to a quick pause. “Have you?”  
  
Louis’ eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. “No, no, god no, that’d be out in a minute.”   
  
“Then how can you possibly know?”  
  
“‘Cause nothing feels…” Louis searched for the word. “Right,” he settled. “When I’m with girls, it just doesn’t feel right. I thought I was in love with Ellie. I truly thought I was. I wanted to be, Harry, I really, really genuinely did. But when we were together, like  _really_  together… It was just all wrong.”   
  
Harry considered this for a moment, running a hand through his curls as he thought about it. And the only question that came to mind was, “How do you know it’ll feel right with a guy?”   
  
“I don’t.” The answer slid itself from Louis’ lips without a second thought. “But I’ll never know until I try,” he added.   
  
The younger chuckled at the mere idea. “You can’t just go out and try, Louis. Not now. The paps would be on that in seconds, and what if you go to try and it doesn’t feel right then either? You’d have caused a riot over nothing.”   
  
Louis’ face fell at that. It was the truth, after all. He could go out and fool around, try and find something, some _one_  that felt right, but none of it would stay private. It would be all through the tabloids in a day, spread across the Internet like wildfire, regardless of whether they had photographic proof or not. Rumors spread with text and claims alone. Pictures were only needed later. And he knew well enough that the second a rumor like that gained enough ground, he wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone, boy or girl, without some paparazzi cameras snapping a shot of the scene to share with the world. Nothing would be private.   
  
“Then I just… I carry on like I have been until I  _can_  do something about it,” Louis decided with a firm nod, already walking away from the conversation, away from Harry, and into the living room where he plopped himself down on the middle cushion of the couch, signaling the end of the conversation.   
  
But Harry wasn’t done.   
  
He screwed up his face, letting out a heavy, exaggerated sigh as he came around the couch. “No, you can’t,” was all he said.   
  
“Then what do you propose I do, Harry?”   
  
“You can’t just do what you’ve been doing—you’re acting differently. You look sad. Clearly everything’s not okay the way it is. You need to get things sorted,” Harry told him, sounding now compassionate rather than disbelieving.   
  
“Well obviously I can’t right now, not without putting the group in danger and everything else on the line, so just come off it. It’s not that important anyway.”   
  
Harry didn’t like the response, but Louis just crossed his arms after settling on a re-run of some show he’d seen once or twice before. He didn’t remember the name of it or recognize any of the actors, but he knew it was a comedy sketch bit. He could use some laughs.   
  
But Harry wasn’t about to let him have it. “Have you ever kissed a boy?” the younger one asked, his timing simply awful as the audience on the show burst into a fit of laughter that overpowered his voice.   
  
Louis cocked his head up at Harry, arching a brow. “What’d you say?” he asked.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes, hating to repeat himself. “I said,” he reiterated while dropping onto the couch beside his friend, “have you ever even kissed a guy before?”   
  
Louis stared at him for a moment before glancing away, eyes bouncing about the room. “Harry, can we just let this go?”  
  
“It’s a simple question, Louis.”  
  
Silence followed between them. The show’s cackling audience ricocheted off the tension in the room, until it was broken by an iffy, “No.”  
  
“No?” Harry almost sounded relieved.   
  
“Well… not really.”  
  
Harry deadpanned. “Not… really?”  
  
“Well, I,” Louis ducked his head as a blush fell to his cheeks. “My first kiss was actually with this guy. He lived down the block growing up, and one day it just… I don’t know. It was weird. We weren’t even really friends, I don’t know.”   
  
“So no Danielle from year 5?” Harry wondered, though a smirk was already tricking up the left corner of his mouth.   
  
Louis chuckled. “More like Danny from year 7.”  
  
“But that’s it?”  
  
“That’s it,” Louis confirmed. “Not that it even counted as much. I’ve never taken much thought to it, since it was so long ago.”  
  
“Hm,” Harry hummed for moment, nodding his head along with his thoughts, until he turned straight to his friend and asked rather bluntly, “Would a kiss help you sort things now, then? D’you think?”  
  
Louis cracked a grin, shaking his head rather cynically. “Doesn’t matter right now, does it? Even if it would help, I couldn’t do that to you lads. I can’t go about trying to snog some random bloke and risk—”   
  
He was cut off.   
By Harry.   
  
Harry stole the words straight from his lips, burying them beneath a chaste, rather impulsive kiss. Its spontaneity was obvious and caught both parties off guard. Louis froze after only a second of a connection, but eyes still open, he stared back at his mate. His  _best_  mate.  _Harry._  Their gazes were locked, despite how out of focus they appeared to one another at such a close distance, bound together by an unknown force—the same force that caused the older boy to rejoin their lips after a brief moment of hesitation. And in the reunion, their lids finally fell shut, breaking the connection of their eyes. But it didn’t matter. There was a more important connection.  
  
There was no time for evaluating, not a moment for second-guessing. In that instance, it just was.  
  
And then it was gone, both boys pulling away after several seconds, long before the kiss could develop into something greater than it was. Lids fluttering open, they stared at each other for a few lengthy moments longer and then broke away into nervous laughter, eyes scattering about the room.   
  
“Have something you’d like to share, Harold?” Louis finally spoke, before their laughter could fully subside.   
  
“I’m not gay, I just…” Harry trailed off, taking a moment to his thoughts as he looked away again, eyes set on the wall opposite them. “You’re my best mate, Louis. If I can help, you know I’ll do anything to try. And this time around I think you’re in some dire need of a bit of help, to help you get things sorted, get things… straightened out, no pun intended.”   
  
“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, Harry,” Louis admitted, bowing his head slightly.   
  
“Well, uh,” Harry stumbled, looking away to hide the blush that dared to discolor his cheeks. “What I guess I’m trying to say is that if you need a… a test-run or something, something that’ll help you get things sorted… you can always try it out with me. I’ll be your… guinea pig, guess you could say.”   
  
“My guinea pig?” Louis questioned.   
  
Harry glanced over his shoulder at the older boy, finding a laugh hidden behind a toothy grin.   
  
“You’re serious?”   
  
The curly-haired boy nodded. “You’re making me think about changing my mind, though,” he murmured through a stifled, embarrassed smile.   
  
“Alright, alright, alright, alright” Louis started before the other lad could say anything more. “So long as things won’t get awkward—”  
  
“Pretty sure we passed that mark a while ago,” Harry interrupted.   
  
They both laughed. “You’re probably right,” Louis agreed, shaking his head, a stupid grin plastered to his features the whole time. “Alright, god, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, Harry, but what the hell do I have to lose?”


	3. Warming Up

Louis awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck. He blinked open his eyes as he tried to stretch, reaching his arms above his head, up, up, up, and out to his sides in his morning stupor until he hit a wall… that grunted. The lazy smile that had strung itself across his lips scurried away and he retracted his arms quickly, nearly giving himself whiplash as he turned to the source of the unexpected sound. His bright blue eyes fell upon a mound of shaggy brown curls.   
  
“Harry?” the name fled from his mouth in question before he could stop it. He cringed. His voice sounded like a scream, finally breaking the stillness of the calm morning.   
  
But instead of apologizing the brunette took a look around, squinting in the brightness of the sunlight seeping into the room. His search ended shortly as his surroundings, at long last, registered with his sleepy conscious.   
  
This was Harry’s room.   
He was in Harry’s room.  
He was in Harry’s bed.   
With Harry.   
  
“Harry,” Louis started again, shifting on the mattress and reaching across the distance between them to nudge the other boy out of slumber. He hesitated though, hand hovering just a couple centimeters above Harry’s shoulder, bare as it was. Realizing how silly his hesitation was, he shook his head and pushed at Harry’s shoulder that stuck out above the sheets. “Harry.”  
  
“Go back to sleep, Lou,” the other boy in the bed grumbled into his pillow, unmoving.   
  
Louis bit his lower lip as he briefly contemplated Harry’s order. But there was a bout of uneasiness refusing to settle in the pit of his stomach, and it grew worse and worse as he looked around the room. There, littering the floor, were his shirt and pants beside Harry’s clothes from the night before.   
  
“Did we…” he started and then stopped.  _No_ , he reasoned. If something had happened, he would have remembered. They hadn’t been drinking, had they?   
  
“You wanted to stay last night,” Harry’s voice intercepted the thought.  
  
Louis turned his head back toward the curly-haired boy. “Did I?”  
  
There was some shifting, feet and limbs rustling against the sheets, but Harry remained with his face smashed into his pillow. “We agreed it would be the best way to kick-off… whatever,” he explained, words muffled. “So stop over-thinking everything and go back to sleep.”   
  
The older boy bit his tongue to keep from saying anymore and settled back against the mattress and pillows. He pulled the blankets up over his chest and held them there as he glanced around. Any of the fatigue he had felt had since drained from his body, and his mind was now moving too quickly for the Doncaster lad to even consider returning to the land of slumber. So he sat, content, in the silence as he began to recall the events of the night before.   
  
“Did you honestly forget what happened yesterday?” Harry broke the silence after not too long, gaining Louis’ attention. This time he had managed to lift his face from the pillow, squinting and blinking at the painful brightness of the room. “Fuck, it’s bright.”  
  
Louis smirked, shifted to pull the pillow from behind his back, and threw it at the head of curls. “That happens during the day,” he replied, chuckling as the younger boy let out a groan and smothered his face with the pillow.   
  
“Well make it stop.”  
  
“Can’t.”  
  
“Try.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Can’t be bothered.”  
  
“Then answer my question.”   
  
Louis let out a sigh. He didn’t have to ask which question Harry meant; he knew. “Parts of it, I guess,” he answered, rolling his head to the side to look down at the boy beside him.   
  
Harry now had his eyes peeking out above the top edge of the pillow, peering up at Louis, curls smeared across his forehead. His brows scrunched together after a moment. “You’re already having second thoughts?” he wondered.   
  
“Second thoughts?” Louis echoed, almost smiling as he looked at the wall opposite the bed. “Nah. Just… I don’t know.”   
  
“Don’t know what?”   
  
Louis looked over as he heard more rustling to find Harry resituating, scooting up to sit against the head of the bed beside him. The younger lad had Louis’ pillow hugged to his chest and a look of utmost concern turning down his every feature.   
  
The older boy let out a sigh and raised his eyes to meet Harry’s. “How are we even supposed to… to do this?” he asked, motioning between them. “Whatever it is. This… trial run.”   
  
Harry chuckled. “Well,” he said, turning more toward Louis after shaking out his curls, “you might start like this.”   
  
Before Louis had a moment to consider Harry’s words, the younger boy had leant forward and joined his lips with Louis’ in a gentle kiss. It was short, simple, just lips against lips, innocent in every way, but that didn’t stop the older boy’s cheeks from warming after Harry pulled away.   
  
A smirk tricked up the corner of Harry’s lips as his eyes skirted about Louis’ face. “Maybe you really are into blokes,” he said and poked his mate’s cheek. “You’re red as a beet.”   
  
“Shut up!” Louis nearly shouted as he swatted Harry’s hand away, though he was giggling as he wrestled the other boy to the mattress. The two tussled for a good minute, fighting for dominance, before tumbling to the bedroom floor in a mess of limbs. They grappled to get untangled and Louis ended up on top, finally pinning Harry’s arms up above his head, forearms pressed firmly against the plush, cream carpet.   
  
The laughter that had been jumping between them during their little tussle soon subsided, chuckles dying in their throats as Louis’ brilliant blue eyes caught Harry’s.   
  
Harry stared up at Louis curiously. The smile that had claimed his lips was stolen away with a thick, uncertain gulp.   
  
Suddenly, for a reason Harry didn’t yet quite understand, all of his senses heightened; his mind made note of the way Louis’ lower body was aligned over his, strong legs straddling his narrow hips, groins pushed surreptitiously together. He noticed the way Louis’ hands felt against his wrists; they were calloused, something he hadn’t expected. The stubble that had sprouted at the tip of his jaw overnight; the way his hair was disheveled from a long night’s rest but still, somehow, appealing; his eyes and the way they were bouncing across his features, from his forehead to lips to his eyes, his cheeks, his jaw, lower, back up again, lingering on his mouth before finally peeling back up to lock with his eyes.   
  
And Harry could have sworn his breath hitched in that moment.   
  
That short, miniscule moment before Louis leaned down and crashed their lips together in a rather brutal collision. It was the roughest any of their meetings had ever been—given this was only their fourth—and quite possibly the roughest Harry had ever experienced while sober.   
  
But he liked it.   
  
He pushed his jaw upward into the kiss as best he could, straining his neck, and was more than pleased as his advances were reciprocated. The kiss deepened. Lips parted naturally, but tongues stayed still—hesitant, a bit uncertain in their respective places.   
  
Harry felt hands loosen around his wrists and then disappear entirely. One stayed put beside his arm, warm skin brushing skin, and the other reappeared with a couple tugs at his curls before lazily dragging itself along the side of his face. Fingers swept almost teasingly along his cheek and he shivered against his will as the calloused tips touched his skin in a ghostly caress.   
  
His body was warming up as the two stayed connected. Excitement boiled in the pit of his stomach and spread throughout his body as Louis’ lips moved against his, slowly. Lazily. Comfortably.   
  
And then, after what felt like no time at all, Louis pulled away. He didn’t move quickly. He didn’t pull away in a definitive manner. Rather, he drew away a bit sluggishly, almost as though he didn’t entirely want to, but he knew he should.   
  
His lips were still parted as he paused only several centimeters above Harry. He looked down at him and met his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at the right corner of his mouth. “How about that?” he asked, trying to hide a grin.   
  
“That,” Harry started and stopped to clear his throat, the surprise of the moment evidently stealing his voice. “That works too. That’s a… a very good way to start.”   
  
“Yeah?” Louis asked for reassurance, receiving a nod in response. “Well,” he said and pushed up to rest on his haunches. A smirk crawled to life across his lips. “Talk about beet red.”   
  
“Hey!” The younger boy’s eyes bulged at the remark and he scrambled to get up the best he could, ending only reclined on his elbows. “You don’t get to make comments about me during this whole thing, alright? I’m not even the one who likes blokes, so excuse me if I get a little… whatever. I’m only trying to help  _you_  out, if you’d take a minute to remember.”   
  
Louis was chuckling. “Alright, alright,” he settled and held up both of his hands in surrender. “No comments about how much you blush, or silently ask for more, or moan, or…” He trailed off to a wide grin as he rolled his hips down slightly to prove his point.   
  
Harry only glared. “Come off it, will ya?”   
  
“I’m only teasing, Harry-bear,” Louis nearly cooed.   
  
“More like using,” Harry muttered as Louis rolled over and began to stand up.   
  
The older boy shook his head and brushed off the knees of his pajama pants before offering a hand to the curly-haired boy. “Using with  _permission_ ,” he emphasized while pulling Harry from the floor. “And besides, guinea pig, you’re the one who suggested this.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry grumbled and ushered Louis out of the room in front of him with a rough push. But as he followed the older boy down the hall to the kitchen, a smile danced across his lips and clung there so tightly that he couldn’t even get it to budge.   
  


**

  
  
“POTATOES!” Niall bellowed, as the five of them were busy scanning over the menus at a small restaurant not too far from the studio. They had just come from a rather lengthy meeting discussing the final details of the release date of their album and some other points on the topic of touring, and they were being rewarded with a free, relaxing meal. And somehow, miraculously, there wasn’t a crowd of screaming girls trying to disturb them.   
  
“Goodness, Niall, remember to breathe,” Liam nudged the blond with a chuckle.   
  
“He has the right idea, though,” Louis spoke up on the Irish boy’s behalf and gained the attention of the table. “Potatoes sound like just the right thing right about now.”   
  
“They’re that  _one_  thing,” Zayn added, attempting to hide a smirk behind his menu.   
  
Louis dropped his jaw at the remark and snapped his fingers to point at his bandmate. “Yes! I like it, already making puns from the album. Good one, Malik. I like your style.”   
  
“You’re so weird,” Harry mumbled beside Louis as he slid his folded menu on to the table.   
  
“Proud of it,” Louis took it as a compliment, as he always did. “But hush, you like me for my weirdness anyway, guinea pig.”   
  
The curly-haired boy smirked at him. “Guess you’re right.”   
  
“Guinea pig?” Liam asked, disrupting the little conversation taking place between Louis and Harry. The two turned toward Liam in bewilderment, as though they’d forgotten they were still at a table with the rest of the boys. Oops.   
  
“What?” Harry asked, pretending he hadn’t heard.   
  
“Louis called you guinea pig,” Liam continued with a brow raised in curiosity, taking a sip of his cola. “That’s a new one.”   
  
“ _Oh_ ,” the two said in unison.   
  
“What brought on that little name?”   
  
The two shared a look, similar blushes discoloring their cheeks.   
  
“Uh,” Louis started but failed to continue, only chewing his lower lip to hide a smile while still looking at the boy beside him. “Well, it was…”  
  
“My hair.” Harry turned toward Liam after a minute. “It was my hair. The other day, after, uh, my shower, I did this thing with my hair, and Louis… he said it reminded him of a guinea pig.”   
  
“I have never seen a guinea pig with curls like that,” Zayn commented with a laugh, gaining similar laughter from Niall.   
  
“Well, the curls were still wet,” Louis said and reached an arm around Harry to pull the curls back from his forehead, “and slicked back like this, away from his face, and he just looked like a little guinea pig, didn’t you, Harry?”  
  
Harry’s eyes were wide, eyebrows lifted with the force that Louis was pulling his hair back from his face. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he mumbled in reply and shook the other boy loose from his curls. “At least you thought so.”   
  
“You did,” Louis concluded. His eyes were locked with Harry’s, and the two smiled at each other and the little story they had just created. It was silly and foolish and probably not at all very believable, but it worked enough for the other boys to leave them be about it for the rest of the evening. The remainder of the dinner conversation was unrelated to them, except for Liam (that observant little prick) noticing that Louis seemed much more “Louis-like.”   
  
Louis simply smiled and shrugged, an arm still slung casually around Harry’s shoulders. “Guess Harry just helped me to stop thinking so much.”   
  
“Yeah? What’d it take?” Zayn wondered.   
  
Harry spared Louis a short look before sputtering off an easy response. “A hell of a lot of food,” he said. “What else?”  
  
Niall chuckled around a mouthful of food. “All hail Harry,” he commented with his fork raised at the curly-haired lad, “whose food can work wonders.”   
  


**

  
  
“Why does Liam have to notice  _everything_?” Harry grumbled as he stumbled into the flat behind Louis, dragging his feet as he went.   
  
“Because that’s his job,” Louis responded. With a huff, he plopped onto the couch in the sitting room and propped his heels up on the edge of the table. Shoes kicked off, toes wiggling, body sunk into the cushions, he added on in an announcer-esque voice, “Liam Payne, the man of first verses, nitpicking, and noticing everything.”  
  
“Well it’s annoying, and he should stop it,” Harry sighed as he set himself at the other corner of the couch, reclined, and stretched his legs out until his socked feet were resting lazily across Louis’ lap. It wasn’t an uncommon position for them.   
  
Personal space, after all, no longer existed between the two boys.   
  
A comfortable silence fell over the room in the following minutes, only disrupted by the creaking of the couch springs as Harry shifted lower against the cushions, so low that his feet hung well off the end of the couch and his bum was resting against the side of Louis’ legs. He didn’t care how awkward the position might have looked to anyone else; it was comfortable and that was all that mattered. He couldn’t say he was all that opposed to the other lad’s arms resting against his legs, either.   
  
Nor did he mind the little nonsensical paths that Louis began to draw with his fingertips all across Harry’s jean-clad knees.   
  
The curly-haired boy followed the paths with his eyes, watching as they circled his kneecap and then swooshed out, taking an imaginary track, hopping across a seam, rushing back again, quickly then slowly, a bit faster, and then lagging, stuck on an inconsistency in the denim before continuing on. As the path came to a pause, Harry’s eyes shifted focus, jerking from Louis’ fingers and trailing up his hand, his wrist, his forearm, the bend of his elbow, up across his chest and then settling upon the other boy’s face.   
  
He was staring. He knew he was, but he didn’t very much care. Besides, he reasoned, Louis wouldn’t think much of it; he was supposed to be making the older boy feel like he was in a relationship, after all. Staring was allowed. Wasn’t it?   
  
“My face that interesting, Styles?”   
  
Harry snapped out of his thoughts with a shake of the head and came to, finding Louis turning toward him with a smirk. “No,” he said, almost a bit harshly. “I was just thinking.”  
  
Louis cocked a brow. “About my face?”   
  
“Stop flattering yourself,” the younger boy mumbled and crossed his arms defiantly across his chest. “I was just… You really shouldn’t have called me ‘guinea pig’ tonight, not in front of the other lads.”   
  
“Oh stop worrying, Harry, they didn’t take anything of it. It’s just another nickname.”   
  
“Yeah, but what if they had?”   
  
Fingers stopped tracing paths that weren’t there and instead laid limp on the legs beneath them as Louis let out a sigh. “Fine,” he said and met Harry’s eyes, “I won’t call you guinea pig anymore, alright? It was an accident anyway.”   
  
“You can call me whatever, that doesn’t matter. I just mean to say, what if they find out or Liam catches on or something?”   
  
“Then we tell them the truth,” Louis responded, simply. Unashamed. He didn’t sound at all worried. “Besides,” he continued, reaching one hand over to mess up Harry’s curls, “it doesn’t matter that much for you anyway. You’re just helping out a mate. It’s not that big a deal.”   
  
Harry shifted a bit and let out a long breath as he nodded. “Right,” he agreed. “I’m just helping you out.”   
  
“Exactly.” Louis smiled, lips pulling back wide.   
  
Harry groaned internally. “Speaking of which,” he said and maneuvered from his reclined position and shifted against the cushions until he found himself straddling Louis’ lap. He settled in, resting back on his haunches, and placed his hands on the older boy’s shoulders, grinning as he saw Louis’ eyes widen at the sudden turn of events. “Hi,” he greeted cheekily.   
  
Louis visibly swallowed deeply but put on a little smile nonetheless. “Hi.”   
  
“You look scared a lot, you know that?” Harry asked as he let his hands slip down from Louis’ shoulders and slide lazily down the length of his arms. “Eleanor probably did shit like this all the time.”   
  
“Actually,” the older boy shifted a bit, “we didn’t do too much of anything before I… y’know, told her.”  
  
Harry raised one eyebrow. “Hannah, then?”  
  
“It was more platonic than anything else,” Louis admitted, grimacing slightly.   
  
“ _Really_?”   
  
“Yes, really, Harry,” Louis confirmed with a hint of exasperation dripping into his tone. “Does it matter?”   
  
Harry thought about it for a moment and then shrugged, readjusting himself to sit back fully on Louis’ thighs. “S’pose not,” he said and then met Louis’ eyes with a wide, teasing grin. “Just means I’ve got a  _lot_  more work to do before you can even begin to get things sorted.”


	4. You Should

Louis shook out his hair as he finally tore his gaze away from the curly-haired boy. They were busy at a radio interview, and he had been staring. He hadn’t even noticed he was until Harry had sent him a pointed glare. It wasn’t a cold glare, just enough of one to tell him to lay off.   
  
In fact, Louis could have sworn there was a bit of a smirk tugging at the younger lad’s lips.   
  
But that didn’t keep the blush from showering across his cheeks as he ducked his head and urged himself to focus on the interviewer’s voice. The harder he tried to focus though, the more he found his thoughts drifting. Drifting back to the night before, back to the couch, back to Harry and his hands, pressed against his chest, and his lips and the way they felt against his and then against his neck and then back together again.   
  
No other encounter had ever stuck with him so vividly, and that worried him. He wanted to get everything out of this experience that he could, but this entire thing with Harry, this experimental trial run, was supposed to be with no strings attached and no repercussions.  
  
It sure did feel like there were some strings, though. They may not have been visible, but Louis could feel them. It was as though for the past week since this thing had started, his entire world had shifted. His thoughts switched from uncertain to definite. His emotions flew from apathetic to overly interested. His moods transformed from rather cynical into eager happiness. It seemed he was always sitting, waiting in anticipation. It was as though the gravity had shifted—not drastically, just enough so that he felt as though there were a constant, inexplicable pull toward Harry.   
  
And that pull, that invisible force, made Louis’ insides tighten and swirl and flip-flop and go all aflutter every time he saw Harry looking at him. He didn’t know why, but he doubted it was a good thing, especially as he felt his cheeks warm for the umpteenth time that day.   
  
Yet somehow, it helped when Harry reached over and patted his leg beneath the table. The small action made his stomach settle, and his thoughts slowed down so much so that he was back in the room just in time to hear a question directed specifically at him.   
  
He was thankful for that and sent Harry a nod and smile after answering the question.   
Harry merely smiled, staring at him knowingly.   
  
“Someone seemed a bit distracted,” Harry nearly sang into Louis’ ear later on, as they made their way down one of the hallways of the suites that housed the radio station. “Wonder why.”   
  
Louis whipped his head toward the other boy, eyes a bit wild. The other lads were shuffling behind them, unaware of their conversation, but Louis didn’t want to risk it. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mumbled in reply.   
  
“Louis, c’mon,” Harry said and slung an arm around the older boy’s shoulders as they walked. “Step out of your head for a while and just… relax, okay?”   
  
Louis sighed, wanting to say something more, but as his eyes met the younger lad’s grin he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his own lips. There was that pull again, as though gravity had shifted just slightly.   
  


**

  
  
“Can’t you find something more… interesting to watch, Louis?” Harry asked, groaning as he sauntered into the sitting room and found the telly sputtering out some animated American sitcom. He’d seen it once or twice before. He’d never quite gotten the humor.   
  
Louis could laugh at anything, though.   
  
As he was then, sitting with a wide grin on his features as one of the characters found humor in a sausage. He glanced up only momentarily from the set as Harry passed in front of him only to plop down into the spot right beside him. The younger boy could have sat elsewhere, even at the other end of the couch, but he didn’t. He sat down right next to Louis without a second thought to the matter.   
  
“Oh, you’re no fun, Hazza,” Louis teased and nudged the boy beside him with his shoulder, though he began flipping through the channels nonetheless. “What qualifies as ‘more interesting’, by the way?”  
  
A smirk pulled at the curly-haired boy’s lips. “Well judging from today’s radio show,” he said, “apparently you find my face highly intriguing.”  
  
“Nah,” the older boy denied without hesitation, “I was just wondering what it would be like to have such a boring face.”   
  
Harry shot him a glare. “That so?”   
  
“Yeah, it’s no wonder you’ve got all those curls for distraction.”  
  
Harry tried to hold his glare, but neither boy was able to keep a straight face for very long. They never were able to glare at each other very long, even if one of them had a rational reason to be angry. They would try to be upset with one another, but even under the right circumstances a smile would shatter one of their façades and the rest would be history. This occasion was no different, and both boys sputtered into laughter within mere seconds.   
  
In the midst of their chuckling, Louis’ eyes caught Harry’s in an unexpected moment, a moment so unexpected yet so crucial that it silenced both of their laughter.   
  
Louis wasn’t sure what brought on the urge—maybe it had been the sound of Harry’s laugh, so low and inviting as of late, or maybe it was the way his hair was actually curling that day and framing his face in a way it hadn’t been in quite a few weeks, or perhaps it was the curl of his upper lip, plastered teasingly along the tops of his upper teeth in the midst of his laughter, or maybe it was simply that dimple that he’d been noticing even more and more in the past several days. Whatever the reason, he found himself leaning forward to close the distance between them.   
  
He connected their lips in a short kiss and pulled away only seconds later. Harry’s eyes were a bit wide, a look of undeniable astonishment filling every centimeter of his features as he blinked at Louis.   
  
The older boy mentally kicked himself and cringed back. “Sorry,” he nearly squeaked, already looking away. “Didn’t mean to just—”  
  
“Do you apologize after kissing everyone?”   
  
“Well, no, of course not, but…”  
  
“But what?”  
  
Louis shrugged, screwing up his face a bit, as he finally brought his eyes back to Harry’s. “Not everyone I kiss is my best mate, y’know? I just… I don’t want to cross a line or mess things up with you or anything,” he responded, ending with a half smile.   
  
“Right,” Harry agreed with a nod and shifted slightly on the couch, moving a bit closer to Louis, “I get that. But you’re forgetting I’m not just your friend right now. We’ve got this… whatever going on, and you’re allowed to kiss me. You can kiss me and no lines will be crossed and you won’t have ruined a thing. You  _should_  kiss me.”   
  
“Should I?” Louis questioned, his eyes near crossing as they met Harry’s, the younger boy having moved so close that Louis could feel his short exhales against his chin. Though despite his question and hesitation, a pleased smile was already tugging at his lips at the blatant invitation.   
  
A smirk pulled back the corner of Harry’s mouth, and his lips rested against Louis’ as he mumbled his reply, “You should.”   
  
Louis smiled as he pressed his lips fully against Harry’s, initiating a kiss that took its time to warm up. He let his eyes fall shut as his mind let go of any silly worries, letting him relax into the kiss, as slow as it was.   
  
His hands found their way to rest on the younger’s sides, just above the hips, and within minutes he found himself maneuvering from the awkward angle at which they were still sitting. He guided Harry to recline against the cushions and followed along while never breaking the connection between their lips, shifting until he was comfortably situated above the younger boy. Legs between legs, arms propped so he wasn’t entirely resting on him, Louis tilted his jaw to deepen the kiss the best he could.   
  
Harry’s hands came to rest right at Louis’ hips, where they stayed for a good minute before drifting. They trailed up his sides mindlessly at first, just fingers brushing up and down against the thin layer of t-shirt, up and down, up and down, slowly and rhythmically, before they came to a halt back at his hips. They paused for a moment, as though waiting for something to stop them, and then tentative fingers snuck up beneath the hem of Louis’ shirt. They were cool against Louis’ warm skin, and the older boy’s breath audibly caught at the first touch.   
  
It wasn’t much, those fingers trailing across Louis’ skin in ghostly caresses, but it was a jump they had yet to make until that moment. Sure, they’d touched each other’s bare torsos before, but those pinches and tickles were always in a joking manner.   
  
This was different.   
  
This was Harry wanting to touch Louis, wanting to get closer to him, wanting to feel him in a way he never had before.   
  
The realization made Louis’ insides tighten just a bit, and he smiled as he sunk back down into the kiss. He was relaxed, and he couldn’t help but think how normal this felt. He hated to say, “It felt right,” since it sounded so cliché and cheesy, but the way Harry felt against him… He couldn’t think of a time he had felt more at peace with himself in any similar encounter.   
  
All of the people he’d been with prior, nothing had ever felt “right.”   
  
He’d been questioning it since he was eleven. At first he hadn’t thought it weird that his first kiss was with a boy… Until he’d heard some of the lads talking at school. They’d been ragging on one of the boys, calling him a puff, teasing him for liking guys, for being gay, even though he’d denied every accusation. They were rough. He hadn’t quite understood why, or what was so bad about it. So he liked boys, what did it matter? But he soon learned not everyone saw the situation in the same respect. He realized that something that seemed so harmless—liking or loving someone of the same gender—really bothered quite a lot of people.   
  
And since that realization, he kept all those thoughts and questions to himself. Every feeling that so much as slightly leaned in the so-called “wrong” way, he had smothered with pretense. He watched his friends, he mimicked the things they said and grew to act like they did.   
  
He asked a girl out on a date. She was nice enough, sweet, kind—all qualities that Louis reasoned were something one would surely seek in a girlfriend. He asked her out a second time. He began seeing more of her at school, hanging around her more afterward. He held her hand in public. He even kissed her quite a few times.   
  
His mother thought he was too young for a relationship, but she thought they were sweet together. It made her smile, though for reasons Louis didn’t understand at his age—reasons he still didn’t know.   
  
And that was how he ended up where he was, with everyone automatically assuming he was attracted to girls and girls alone because he had never told anyone otherwise.  
  
Because he had been too worried, too scared, too paranoid to ever say so much as a word about it.   
  
He had buried those feelings and thoughts and that entire world of questions so much, even more so after he’d reached fame with One Direction, that he had even began to believe he was genuinely straight.   
  
He  _wanted_  to be, so badly.   
  
And once he’d met Eleanor, he truly thought he was. Things had kicked off so well between them. He got on with her, he laughed with her, and she made him smile. With Eleanor he was happy, and most of all he never felt like he was faking it. When he said he loved her, he meant it; she was honestly one of the nicest, sweetest people he had ever met.   
  
But once their relationship had begun to gain speed, everything Louis had worked so hard to bury began to unearth itself. He found himself lying awake at night, lost in an endless whirlwind of thoughts and open-ended what-ifs. He began analyzing everything, questioning his own emotions.   
  
When he was alone with Eleanor, he knew he was behaving differently. He was growing a bit standoffish, he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to fake it. It continued until one night, Eleanor just came right out and asked him what was wrong, and Louis didn’t have the heart to lie to her.   
  
He couldn’t.  
He needed to be honest.  
He needed to tell  _someone_.   
  
And Eleanor had gained so much of his trust over the months they were together that he found himself spilling everything to her while barely taking a second to catch his breath. He couldn’t even count the number of times he apologized to her that evening amidst his outburst of explanation, or how badly he had begged her not to say anything and to please, please, please not hate him forever.  
  
Whatever he had said, though, must have worked, for by the end of the night Eleanor didn’t hate him. In fact, she had even agreed to—  
  
“ _Lou_ ,” Harry’s groan snagged Louis from his thoughts, his voice low and hoarse as he had pulled his lips away to catch a full breath.   
  
Louis blinked open his eyes in the sudden disconnection. Harry was staring up at him through half-lidded eyes. His lips were parted, his breathing shallow. “What’s the matter?” Louis asked and went to push himself up a bit, but the hands he’d forgotten were on his sides pulled him back down. Fingers fanned out flat against his lower back and Louis couldn’t help the smile that flared across his lips.   
  
A glare scrunched up the curly-haired boy’s brow. “I didn’t tell you to leave,” he said, almost frowning.   
  
“Wasn’t going to leave, silly,” Louis told him and shifted a bit, his original intent, ignoring the undeniable bulge he felt against his thigh. Mention of it would only embarrass Harry, and to be honest, Louis really didn’t want this meeting to be over quite yet.   
  
“But you said my name,” he continued, stretching a bit as Harry let his grip loosen around him just a tad. “What for?”   
  
“Oh,” Harry murmured and glanced away. He sucked in his lower lip beneath teeth and chewed on it for several long seconds, during which his cheeks fell victim to a deep blush. “It, um, it was nothing.”  
  
Louis smirked. “Nothing? You’re blushing, Harry-bear,” he teased and leaned forward to nuzzle Harry’s cheek with his own. The flesh was warm against his cheek and he smiled as he drew back just far enough to meet the younger boy’s eyes. “And while endearing as it is on you,” he added, “you don’t blush over nothing.”   
  
Harry tittered at the comment but shook his head against the couch, glancing away once more.   
  
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Louis settled without pushing any further, clearly catching the younger boy by surprise. He rarely let things go so easily.   
  
Harry turned back toward him with a furrowed brow. “That’s it?” he wondered.   
  
“Yep,” he confirmed with a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. “That’s it.”   
  
The curly-haired boy, however, did not look at all convinced.   
  
Louis merely chuckled at Harry’s disbelief before rejoining their lips in a rather gentle embrace. It was sweet and tender, and he moved against Harry with relative ease.   
  
The younger boy stilled beneath him at first touch, as though savoring the moment before he dared arch up into the kiss. And as he did, lips parted, tongues met and entangled, and Louis soon learned what it was that Harry had wanted to do.   
  
The hands that had been on Louis’ lower back quickly crawled from their spot of rest, becoming a jumbled mess of fingers and shirt within seconds of the kiss. Harry’s hands moved quickly, but the tugging stilled for an instant.   
  
A split second.   
A momentary pause.  
Breathing hitched.   
  
And then Harry pushed his lips up against Louis with a force so unprecedented that the older boy found himself gasping into the kiss. His thoughts took off so quickly that he lost track of them. He tried to follow them, but fell behind and instead gave in to the moment, drowning in the sensations, welcoming the advances without any hesitation.   
  
The two broke apart only long enough for Louis to pull far enough away to yank his shirt over his head and off his arms, discarding of it carelessly. It landed beside the couch, forgotten, as the Doncaster lad quickly resumed his previous position, lips colliding against Harry’s in a fit of pent-up yearnings.   
  
Hands explored, Louis managed to roll the younger boy’s shirt up to his chest, where he then lost the patience to deal with it any longer. He let it be and instead let his fingers get lost in a mane of soft curls.   
  
He was about to delve deeper, to let his instincts take over entirely, when it happened.   
  
A phone rang.   
  
Its vibrations echoing against the wood of the coffee table were louder than the obnoxious, poppy ringtone itself, but its sounds were more than enough to jerk both boys straight out of the moment, hitting both as though they were just awoken by a bucket of cold ice water. Lips broke apart, heads whipped toward the source of the noise, and the moment was lost.   
  
The spark, the urge, the magic—call it what you will—vanished as the phone rang out, ringtone cutting off as voicemail took the call, plunging the room back into silence.   
  
Both boys stared at the phone for a minute longer, allowing their breathing to slow and their hearts to stop racing before they dared look back at each other.   
  
For looking at each other would force them to acknowledge reality.   
  
Louis had just stepped far enough back into reality as the phone went off a second time, and he snatched it up with an annoyed hello without even thinking. “Zayn, hi, no, sorry,” he apologized quickly for the edge in his voice, biting his lower lip as he listened. “Oh, um, he’s in the toilet right now… dinner? … Yeah, we’ll both be ready…. Okay, yeah, bye.” Tapping the end call button with a bit more force than necessary, he turned toward Harry and the rest of reality with no chance to prepare.   
  
“So… dinner?” Harry asked, gaze following as Louis placed the phone back on the table. His hands were still resting on Louis’ sides, his shirt still rolled up in a mess at his chest, his curls smeared across his forehead and splayed out against the end of the couch, and his lips were swollen and parted as his breaths were still coming in and out at shallow intervals.   
  
Here they were, still breathing heavily and both nearly shirtless, staring at each other with flushed cheeks and swollen lips as they took in the aftermath of the counter. It was right then, as their eyes finally met, that they both realized the impact of everything that just happened.   
  
That was not just a kiss.   
  
That went above and beyond a mere trial run, some sort of experiment to try and get a feel for things. This was different. There were emotions and hormones involved—on both sides.   
  
They wanted what they were doing. They genuinely did, and that left the two slightly jumpy and red as they finally began to move and disentangle from each other.   
  
Lou voiced that he was off to shower before dinner and made his escape from the main room after picking up his shirt from the floor. Harry neither said a word nor offered another look after swinging his legs to the floor, pulling his shirt down, and holding the bottom hem of it in his hands, which he left conveniently over his crotch as Louis made his way from the room.   
  
The older boy’s thoughts were running like mad as he hurried to the bathroom, shirt still in his hands. He flipped on the light and closed the door behind him with a soft click, but he didn’t move toward the shower. He stayed at the entrance, leaning against the door as he stared at the wall opposite him. His heart had yet to settle in his chest and it felt like someone had released a troupe of mini gymnasts in his stomach, free to tumble and flip all about without any limitation.   
  
Images of Harry flashed across his mind in a string of intangible moments, and he shook his head to rid of them, not because he didn’t want them there but because he knew he couldn’t stand here and relive every moment that had just happened.   
  
Willing himself to move, he slowly made his way from the door to the shower, dropping his shirt and pants on the way. He turned on the overhead faucet and let the water warm before stepping in with a cautious foot. It felt refreshing against his skin, washing over him with a stilling effect. His thoughts slowed. The knot in his stomach unwound. And as he stood there, eyes closed but head turned up slightly toward the shower head, he was unable to stop the smile that spread fully across his lips. The way he was feeling at that moment was the best he had felt in quite a while, and he didn’t want that to change.   
  
Gravity’s pull had shifted yet again. Its force was strong and tempting and excruciatingly overwhelming, and this time Louis decided he didn’t want to fight it.


	5. Late Night Talking

“Once again, thanks very much to the lads of One Direction for stopping by today!” the interviewer spoke much too loudly into his microphone, though his voice was still drowned out by the cheers of the crowd before he could even finish his round of thanks. The crowd, overly populated by young teenage girls, was still cheering when the boys made their way off the main set and disappeared backstage, well out of sight of the fans and cameras. A quick set of photos with the station was standing between them and the rest of the day, and Harry really couldn’t find the patience in him to deal with all of these tedious little things.   
  
His smiles had felt forced all morning and afternoon, and he wasn’t even entirely certain as to why.   
  
He never often minded these sorts of television interviews or these little photo shoots where they didn’t have to get all dolled up and poked and prodded by make-up utensils he’d prefer not to know the names of. These were the shoots that were more relaxed, and the interviews were never too trying. The questions were often run-of-the-mill and excessively mundane to the point where he was nearly one hundred percent positive he could answer most of them in his sleep.   
  
Of course, he always liked when the interview was opened up to questions from the audience at the end. It always added at least a little tad of surprise, a bit of spice to mix things up. Every now and then a fan would have a question that actually forced Harry to wake up during the interview. He liked those moments, actually.  
  
Except for today.   
  
It was stupid, really.   
  
So stupid that Harry wanted to kick himself because he had felt foolish and petty and there was really no reason at all as to why he was biting the inside of his cheek and was suddenly engrossed by the appearance of his fingers locked together in a tight knot between his knees, as Louis had responded to a question about Eleanor.   
  
“ _How are things with you and Eleanor?_ ”   
  
That was the question.   
That’s all it was.  
Nothing more.  
  
“ _Things are good, really good actually_ ,” Louis had answered with a nod and a smile.   
  
It was the smile that went along with his words that made Harry bow his head and focus on his hands for distraction. Louis had  _smiled_ , smiled like he was happy, as though things were perfect between him and Eleanor—which, okay, to be fair, things  _were_  good between Louis and Eleanor. They were still friends, as Louis had informed Harry.   
  
But the question assumed and implied a relationship; Harry knew that, Louis knew that, everyone there knew that. And yet there Louis had gone, quick to respond that everything was swell in paradise with a fucking grin plastered across his face.   
  
Right, right, things were great between Louis and his girlfriend. So fantastic that Louis hadn’t even talked to her in the past couple weeks, Harry knew because…   
  
Well, because he had been there.   
  
He had been there, beside Louis, nearly constantly since the so-called trial run had kicked off two and a half weeks prior. He woke up most mornings beside the older boy, he was with him throughout most of the day because he had no choice, and he was there after their daily duties were over because he wanted to be. They cooked together, they had meals together, they watched the telly together, they got lost in conversations together, they talked for hours about nothing together, they found their way into late-night fits of hysterical giggling together, they fell asleep together—they were always together.   
  
Before the trial, this experiment, this  _whatever_  had started, they had been together a lot. And once it had begun, Harry had found himself spending even more time than usual with Louis, though none of it had ever felt forced. They grew to spend so much time together with a natural ease.   
  
And it was because of all this time spent nearly glued to the other’s hip that Harry knew Louis hadn’t so much as texted Eleanor within the past fortnight. Louis had been too focused on… getting things sorted.  
  
Or whatever.   
  
Point being, Louis had been busy. With Harry.   
  
And there weren’t even “things” with Eleanor to be good or anything between them that should have been any cause for Louis to grin like he had during the interview.   
  
Harry was still chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he followed the rest of the lads backstage, off to the little set for their mini photo shoot. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his trousers, and his eyes were set on Louis’ back as he shuffled along behind them, still victim to his thoughts until a voice crashed into the sea of distractions.   
  
“You alright there, Harry?”  
  
The curly-haired boy blinked his eyes away from Louis, confusion sketching itself across his brow as he turned to find Niall looking at him curiously. The Irish lad’s blue eyes were wide with indubitable concern.   
  
Harry caught himself from snapping back a bitter reply and finally released his cheek from his thoughtful chewing, letting his lips slide into a simple smile. “I’m fine,” he responded in as neutral (and unreadable) a tone he could manage. He hated to sound too harsh to the blond boy; he knew Niall was only trying to help.   
  
Hence why the Irish boy continued with narrowed eyes, “You sure? Seemed a bit… dunno, distracted by the end of that.”   
  
“I’m fine,” Harry repeated, showing some teeth this time. “Really, I just—”  
  
He cut off sharply, his attention stolen as Liam wrapped an arm around Louis’ shoulders up ahead. The smile froze across Harry’s lips and then faltered just slightly, the twitch so subtle that not even Niall could notice it while walking right beside him. But his lips quivered just a smidgen at the sight and his breath caught in his throat as he observed the exchange. Liam’s arm settled loosely around Louis’ shoulders in a casual, friendly manner.   
  
It meant nothing, Harry reasoned; Liam was always swinging an arm around his mates as they walked beside each other, it didn’t matter whom.   
  
Harry wanted again to kick himself and shook his head, almost laughing as he exhaled and continued his response. “I was bored with the questions, that’s all,” he said, sending a smile back to Niall.   
  
“Can’t blame you there,” the blonde agreed with a chuckle, obviously unfazed. “Nothing we haven’t heard before. Bit of a snooze fest, huh?”   
  
“Exactly,” Harry echoed his sentiments and was thankful as they turned into the room for the shoot.   
  
And as the five of them made their way into the room, his eyes watched as Liam retracted his arm from Louis to pull his phone from his pocket. Harry noticed that Louis’ arms were crossed firmly against his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Louis hadn’t reciprocated the other boy’s half embrace, as casual as it had been.   
  


**

  
  
“Be nice,” Harry tried to scold Louis, but his words were lost among his own giggles.   
  
Louis fell victim to a bout of choking laughter, falling to hysterics as he dropped his phone to his chest to wipe at his eyes. “I don’t get it,” he managed to get out after a minute, smearing away the last of his tears as he picked back up his phone. The light from the screen sent an eerie glow across his features, all scrunched up in amusement. “Where does he come up with this stuff?”   
  
“Maybe he’s got all these words of wisdom just floating about his head and we didn’t even know,” Harry suggested, shifting a bit across the bed to get a better view of Louis’ phone.   
  
“Our Bradford bad boy?” Louis questioned, smirking as he looked at Harry from the corner of his eye. “Nah,” he said and swiped his thumb across the screen, sending the page scrolling through a long line of tweets. “Maybe he just had a massive order of Chinese take-away one night and didn’t have the heart to throw away all those fortunes.”   
  
“Maybe,” Harry agreed, chuckling at the mental image of Zayn surrounded by a pile of fortune cookies. “Or he’s just really deep about…”  
  
“Life?”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“Harry, it’s adorable how much faith you hold in him, really,” Louis said with a breathy laugh and pushed the home button on his phone, exiting out of the Twitter app and sending the room farther into darkness.   
  
Harry went to punch Louis in the arm, but he lost the strength halfway there, his hand only nudging the older boy’s bicep as he laughed and told him to shut up. “At least I’m not the one sitting here making fun of my bandmates’ tweets,” he added. “I’m not sure I want to know what you think when you read mine.”   
  
“But yours are just random, Harry-bear,” Louis said as he turned to fumble with plugging in his phone to the charger on the bedside table. “You just say random crap about life, instead of giving me cheesy words to live by.”   
  
“Maybe the words to live by are just hidden in my tweets and you’ve never bothered to look deep enough,” the curly-haired boy countered, hiding a laugh behind a wide smile as he met Louis’ eyes in the moonlight that dimly lit the room.   
  
The older boy stared at him for a moment, letting a peaceful stillness fall over them before breaking it with another fit of giggles. “Right, right, I’m sure, Harry the literary Twitter genius who hides wisdom in his daily rambles, all in less than one-hundred and forty characters,” he sputtered between chuckles. “Oh god, Harry, you need to go to sleep.  _I_  need to go to sleep.”   
  
Harry agreed through his laughter, nodding slightly as he shifted on the bed and pulled the comforter up to his shoulders. He sighed out the last of his laughter while getting into a comfortable position and set his gaze on the ceiling. Giggles were still escaping the boy beside him, and he wasn’t able to keep a couple from leaving his lips as well.   
  
Late night laughter was always contagious, after all. Intoxicating and uplifting and Harry felt like he had been on cloud nine for the past few hours. He couldn’t even remember everything Louis and he had talked about—nothing of much importance, of that he was certain—or why any of it seemed so hilarious. He was positive that most of their conversation wasn’t even remotely funny, but that fact hadn’t kept either boy from laughing to the point of tears and aching stomachs.   
  
Too many hours they had wasted that evening, laughing over nothing. Yet as tired as his body felt, sleep felt rather far away. So with slumber so far from his reach, Harry didn’t hesitate to part his lips in question. “Louis?” he asked at first, just to regain the other boy’s attention.   
  
Louis’ breathy chuckles stilled. “Hm?” he hummed, rolling his head toward the younger boy.   
  
“Speaking about… life—”  
  
“How specific.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Sorry, Harry.”  
  
“Rude, Louis.”   
  
“I said sorry.”  
  
“Still.”  
  
“Carry on, love.”   
  
“Fine. As I was saying, I was just…” Harry trailed off for a moment, biting his lower lip as he concentrated on the pattern the moonlight made on the ceiling as it came through the curtains. His fingers fooled with the sheets, hands resting on his stomach as he thought of how to best phrase his question. Words failed him at four in the morning though, and he just came out with a rather painfully blunt question for his mate. “I was wondering, how’ve you been dealing with the whole… well, you know, the whole gay thing?”   
  
“The  _gay thing_.” Louis echoed, chuckling at the title.   
  
“What would you prefer I call it?” Harry asked and broke his gaze away from the ceiling, rolling his head until he could meet Louis’ eyes.   
  
The older boy smiled and nearly sang as he thought about it, “Let’s call it… Situation Bonobo.”   
  
Harry cocked a brow. “Um… okay?”  
  
“It’s better than ‘the gay thing’,” Louis mimicked in an exaggerated, ridiculously low voice, air quotes included as he pulled his arms from beneath the covers.   
  
“But bonobo?” Harry wondered, cracking a grin.   
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Where did that even come from?”   
  
“Bonobos are  _cool_ ,” Louis said with a cheeky smile. “Besides, who doesn’t like saying ‘bonobo’?”  
  
Harry only rolled his eyes. “You’re so weird, Lou.”   
  
“Yet you love me anyway.”   
  
“Surprisingly,” Harry said, receiving a playful slap upside his head in response. He swerved away from the touch the best he could and shook out his curls against the pillows after a minute, a smile pinned to his lips the whole time. He rolled to his side to better face Louis, holding the blankets against his chest as worked his way back to what he really wanted to know. “But seriously, Louis, how are things looking with Situation Bonobo?”   
  
Louis kept his eyes locked with Harry’s for a lengthy moment before turning his gaze toward the ceiling, letting out a long exhale of a sigh. He was silent for a minute, as though earnestly contemplating the question, and then began in an uncharacteristically vulnerable voice, “Situation Bonobo is… It’s alright.”   
  
“It’s alright?” Harry echoed in question.   
  
“Yeah, it’s alright,” Louis confirmed and turned back toward the younger boy with a little smile. “I mean like, I feel… I dunno, more, like, certain about it all, I guess? A bit. I don’t know.”   
  
A smile pulled back the corner of Harry’s lips at Louis’ words. Regardless of everything that was happening between them, regardless of the trial run, regardless of being a guinea pig, regardless of that odd pinch of upset he had felt the other day during the interview, regardless of everything, Louis was still Harry’s best mate, and Harry would always be concerned about him whenever things weren’t right.   
  
It might have been a bit weird for two teenage lads to lie side by side at four in the morning, talking about their feelings, but Harry didn’t very much care. Because deep down, resting in the depths of his heart, was a drop of affection for his friend so great that Harry would ignore all boundaries and standards, disregard every label of “weird” solely in order to make sure Louis was alright.   
  
So Harry didn’t find it at all strange as he asked Louis that late night, “But you are more confident and certain now that you do, for sure, fancy lads more than ladies?”   
  
A smirk stole the older boy’s lips at Harry’s odd wording, but he nodded against his pillow nonetheless. “Yeah,” he said. “A lot more confident, actually.”   
  
“Good,” Harry settled. “I’m glad.”   
  
“Me too.”   
  
The two shared a short smile before a comfortable silence came between them. Slumber was reaching both boys at long last, creeping upon them with a sluggish effect as seconds slowed and eyes grew heavy.   
  
Harry was slipping in and out of the land of slumber when Louis’ voice reached his ears in an uncertain whisper.   
  
“Hey, Harry?”   
  
The younger boy’s eyes popped open upon hearing his name, and a worried, “Huh? What’s wrong?” left his lips before his brain could even think to stop it.   
  
Louis chuckled lightly. “Nothing’s wrong. I just…”   
  
He hesitated.   
  
The hesitation gave Harry enough time to snap back into reality, and he came to with a little stir of the head and several quick blinks. His eyes readjusted to the darkness of the room and his gaze fell upon the other boy, who was staring upward, hands wringing together against his chest, looking nothing short of nervous. Harry’s brow creased, unnoticeable in the darkened room, and he reached out and forced Louis’ hands apart, grabbing one to hold within his own. He wrapped his fingers around Louis’ palm and pulled it down until their hands rested together at Louis’ side.   
  
“What’s up?” Harry asked, the concern more than slightly evident in his voice, and squeezed Louis’ hand.   
  
The Doncaster lad had his lower lip sucked in beneath his upper teeth and he was looking anywhere but at Harry. Though with another squeeze to the hand, he brought his eyes from the room to meet those concerned irises of the curly-haired boy. He released his lip, as a nervous little smile awoke across his face to match the vulnerability of his shaking voice as he finally spoke, “It’s not a big deal, really, I just… I wanted to say thanks.”   
  
“Thanks?” Harry repeated with a grin.   
  
“Yeah,” Louis said and glanced away a bit sheepishly. “Just for, for being here and everything, you know? Besides the whole experiment thing, I mean. Thanks for that too, but just in general. For not… I don’t know, being grossed out or turning on me or anything. Thanks.”   
  
A smile had crawled to rest across Louis’ lips as he spoke. It was a smile of content. Of peace. Of gratitude. And it warmed Harry’s heart, knowing that he had contributed to that smile.   
  
A similar grin coming across his own lips, Harry squeezed Louis’ hand once more. “You know I’d still be your best mate even if you came out and told me you were attracted to your car,” he reassured him. “So this? Doesn’t even matter.”   
  
Louis just smiled, shaking his head, eyes still too nervous to meet Harry’s. “But still,” he said. “Thanks.”   
  
“Don’t mention it,” Harry replied. “Seriously. Now… sleep, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”   
  
“‘Night, Lou.”   
  
“Goodnight, Harry.”   
  
The curly-haired boy smiled in the darkness as he resituated the pillow beneath his head and prepared to soon meet slumber. Morning was much closer than he would have preferred it to be, but he wouldn’t even think of trading his evening for a few more hours of rest. There was something special about getting to spend these times with Louis and Louis alone, especially late at night. The older boy’s defenses, as subconscious as they may have been, came down and little was ever held back between them once a certain time of the night was reached.   
  
And as Harry lay there, his one hand still interlocked with Louis’, he couldn’t help but wishing he could experience even more of these late night encounters with his best mate. Even if talking were all they would ever accomplish, he was okay with that, oddly enough. Talking with Louis like this fulfilled some fixation he rarely ever felt the need to satisfy with anyone else.   
  
Harry might have thought it odd, but he wasn’t paying his feelings much attention at that moment. His eyes were still fixed upon the boy beside him, and his thoughts were drifting in endless circles about what Louis must have been thinking about everything. He was wondering if Louis truly was all right, or if some of his smiles were still being faked. That look hadn’t made an appearance in the past few days, as far as Harry knew, but that didn’t mean it was gone for good, which worried the younger lad tremendously.   
  
He wondered if Louis thought this whole experiment thing between them were a bit strange.   
  
He wondered if Louis wanted to stop.   
  
He wondered if Louis was questioning his feelings.   
  
He wondered if Louis was lost in a maze of questions himself, if he even felt like himself. He worried that Louis was drowning in an ocean of uncertainty and was too proud, or maybe just too scared, to ask for help.   
  
Feeling his smile fall from his lips at the thought, Harry found himself asking Louis one of his many questions aloud before sleep could steal it from his mind. “Lou, you know I love you, right?” he asked, voice soft against the silence of the room.   
  
Louis simply tightened his fingers around Harry’s in silent reply.


	6. Pretend I'm Not Harry

“Shit, shit, shit, we’re late, we’re late, we’re late, we’re late,” Louis kept chanting as he rushed around the flat in a flash, snatching up shirts, trousers, boxers, some beanies, a couple jumpers and jackets, a few pairs of Toms, chargers, a book, a blanket for the ride, and countless other things he thought might come in handy at one point or another during the trip. His arms were full as he came back into the bedroom and dropped the entire pile, save the blanket and book, into the suitcase he had laid open on the bed beside Harry.  
  
Yes, beside Harry who was now, fortunately, seated in the bed with the sheets pulled up around his waist as he tried to rub the tired from his eyes. He yawned after a moment, blinking at Louis and his frantic movements before stealing a confused look at the glowing green digits of the bedside alarm clock. “It’s 9:05,” was all he said, blearily.   
  
“9:05 and we’re supposed to be out front and ready, bags packed and all at 9:30,” Louis corrected with a sigh of exasperation.   
  
“But we’re not actually late,” Harry mumbled, his words even slower with his morning fatigue. Louis knew it hadn’t helped that they stayed up past four—again. That definitely wasn’t their smartest move, but there was no point in dwelling on the matter now. There wasn’t a way to undo what was already done, and he knew he couldn’t get back those few extra hours for sleep, or rid of those eight calls it took from Liam to finally wake him that morning.   
  
“No,” Louis agreed as he unplugged his laptop and slipped it into his backpack, a bit roughly as he shook it in until it fit. “But we will be by the time both of us get a chance to shower and pack and eat and you’re still in bed, Harry, for fuck’s sake, get up,  _please_.”   
  
“I’m up, I’m up,” the curly-haired boy insisted as he finally swung his legs over the edge of the bed, though he didn’t make any effort to stand. Instead, he sat there for a good minute, stretching his limbs with a few more massive yawns, adding on, “You know we can just eat in the van on the way?”  
  
“Fine. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s now 9:08 and you’re still technically in bed and completely unpacked.”   
  
Harry groaned and pushed himself from the mattress at that, grumbling unhappily, “I’m up, Lou, god, you’re worse than my mum sometimes I swear.”   
  
“I can’t imagine what it was like getting you up for school,” Louis muttered under his breath as he stalked past the younger boy to pick up the suitcase that was still empty by the door, pulled out the night before to be filled for their trip. They were only to be gone for five days, for the first five shows of the UK tour before breaking it for a week or so for the holidays, hence why neither boy had felt a huge rush to pack the night before or put much thought into planning whatsoever.   
  
With a huff of a sigh, Louis plopped the luggage down in front of Harry and yanked at the zipper, opening it up and pointing, merely saying, “Fill,” before returning to his own hasty packing.   
  
The curly-haired boy’s shoulders sank at the size of the open suitcase, but he was already shuffling about the room and grabbing an armful of things before he could quip at Louis. “Bit bossy today, aren’t we?” he teased. “Didn’t even get my morning kiss.”   
  
A blush darkened Louis’ cheeks and his hands stilled for the slightest moment, his eyes flitting toward the other boy before quickly returning to his bag. He cleared his throat as he pulled the zipper around to close it at the top of the suitcase. “I didn’t know those were a, uh… thing now,” he murmured, words barely audible, but Harry didn’t seem to have any trouble catching them.   
  
“Maybe they’re not,” he said with a shrug. “But I can’t say I’m really… against them.”   
  
Louis bit his lower lip, somewhat ducking his head to hide a smile as he finished stuffing a few more things into his backpack. His stomach did a bit of a flip-flop when he caught sight of a rare scattering of a blush clinging to the curly-haired boy’s cheeks, but he ignored the internal reaction. Despite having decided to no longer fight that odd little shift in gravity when he was around the boy, that indescribable force that overcame him and sent all of his surroundings into a blur so that his focus remained solely on Harry, he ignored that little jolt of excitement. He didn’t have time to dwell on little blushes; he didn’t have time to let a rush of feelings and adrenaline distract him.   
  
They had places to be and things to do and very little time left before said things began.  
  
But that didn’t stop him from walking over to Harry after he had finished with his packing and pressing his lips to the younger boy’s in a quick, tiny peck.   
  
“Morning,” he added on while pulling away, an easy smile gliding across his lips.   
  
Harry blinked a few times before meeting Louis’ eyes, perhaps a bit stunned, and reciprocating with a simple, “Good morning.”   
  
The older boy’s smile pulled into a smirk and he ruffled Harry’s curls. “Okay, eighteen minutes, I’ll go jump in the shower while you finish packing and then it’s all yours, alright?” he asked, not waiting for a response as he already turned on his heels for the bath. “I’ll be quick!”   
  
Louis was already in the bathroom, door closed and clothes shed when he heard Harry call after him, “Take your time!”   
  
He didn’t think anything of the boy’s words, smiling and shaking them off as he turned on the tap and stepped into the shower.   
  
Though maybe he should have.  
  
For it wasn’t even two minutes later when he heard the door to the bathroom click open and feet shuffle in against the tiles, which wasn’t all that odd. The two always shared the bathroom and barged in to use the toilet or sink while the other was showering—things that become natural when you’re living together. So Louis didn’t think it weird at all as the door clicked shut and Harry announced his presence with a mumbled, “I’m coming in.”   
  
But Louis, dense as he must have been, just replied, “I already packed the travel toothbrushes and everything—”  
  
He cut his sentence short, his words sticking in his throat, as the door to the shower was pulled open and Harry stepped into the stall without a word.   
  
As though this were normal.   
  
Louis blanched. The curly-haired boy pulled the door shut behind him and turned toward Louis with a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and the look dancing around his eyes was nothing short of amused.   
  
But the older boy was far from laughing. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice a hiss of a whisper, as though someone might overhear.   
  
“Conserving time,” Harry answered, his mouth turning upward into a grin, “and water.”   
  
Louis didn’t say anything more. He  _couldn’t_  say anything more. No words seem to fit, but none were even found. His mind was spinning much too quickly for him to get a grip on the situation, and he felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement that he knew he maybe shouldn’t have—this was Harry, after all.   
  
 _Fucking hell_ , he thought with a shake of his head.  _This is Harry in_  my  _shower_. Forget any qualms about the younger boy being his best mate and this being weird. (Well, it was weird, but only because it was unexpected.) Whatever lines had been laid between friendship and the realm of maybe-we’re-a-bit-more had now been entirely blurred. And nothing, Louis reasoned, about a trial run would require them to share a shower. So this? This was totally unjustified.   
  
Swallowing thickly, Louis forced his eyes away from Harry. He let his gaze drop to the ground as he continued his shower, trying not to make a big deal, though it was painfully obvious how uncomfortable he was right then.   
  
“Okay, you need to relax,” Harry’s voice broke through the rhythmic, pulsating sound of the shower. Louis timidly met his gaze, cocking one eyebrow at his words. The curly-haired boy just rolled his eyes as he reached around him for the shampoo and popped open the lid. “Pretend I’m not Harry,” he told him. “Pretend I’m just some bloke you like enough to shower with. Or for all I care, go ahead and pretend I’m your boyfriend.”   
  
Louis chose to ignore the little flip-flop his stomach did at the word and instead returned to lathering up the shampoo in his hair, trying to follow Harry’s instructions.   
  
But this was Harry in his shower. Harry was in his shower. Harry. Shower. Harry. Shower.  _Harry_.   
  
That’s all his mind could register as he leaned under the spray to rinse the shampoo from his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut during the rinse and was more than a little thankful for the distraction.   
  
Though maybe closing his eyes wasn’t the best idea.   
  
With his head still leaned back beneath the water, eyes tightly closed, he felt a pair of hands appear on his waist. They were slick against his skin, separated by a layer of soap and water as they slid up and down his sides, perhaps a few times more than necessary. But Louis didn’t mind.   
  
It felt good.   
  
Good to have someone else’s hands on him, and the fact that they were Harry’s hands sent his mind reeling.   
  
So good, in fact, that when he finished rinsing his hair, he didn’t dare make any move to break the connection. He stayed beneath the pulsating spray with his head tipped back, eyes closed, though no longer squeezed shut, until those hands tightened their fingers around his waist and drew him from the water. They yanked at him, though not unpleasantly so, and turned him around. Fingers grazed across the length of his back. The slickness of the soapy water began to dissipate with the continued movements until it was just skin trailing across skin in lax, lazy movements.   
  
He shivered, shoulders slightly trembling despite the heat and steam all around him, as a curled finger ran up the dip of his spine, following the structure up to the nape of his neck. The finger slipped from his neck to his shoulder, though its companions followed with it, as two hands instead took its place, one settling in on either of Louis’ shoulders. They held still for a moment before gently massaging his shoulders, thumbs kneading into blades, as they made their way across his shoulders and down to his upper arms.   
  
That’s where they stayed, fingers gripping at biceps, as a nose nudged against his neck, leading the way for a pair of lips to press down softly just above the shoulder. The lips parted a bit farther forward, finding a nice spot at the side of his neck to suck on—but only for a moment, always consciously aware.   
  
Those lips kissed their way up the side of his neck and found refuge behind his ear. They simply kissed for a few seconds before teeth dared to nip lightly at the skin, pulling on it just enough to get a reaction out of Louis.  
  
Which they did.   
  
Louis never was one for being teased, and within seconds he had broken free from the grip the hands still had on his biceps and turned around, crashing his lips against Harry’s as he pushed him up against the tiled wall of the shower. Lips parted easily, tongues met and danced with each other, as the water continued to fall against their bodies, ricocheting against their skin.   
  
He was only acutely aware as his hand reached down between them and gathered Harry’s length, working up a rhythm of gentle tugs, as their mouths collided together. His mind was too far gone to register how new this was, to remind him that  _hey, you’re jacking off your best mate. Shouldn’t this repulse him?_  
  
Because lost beneath the water, escaping from time, Louis forgot everything that had been holding him back.   
  
The doubts, the worries, the fright, the little, unofficial rules his mind had made up for this experimental trial run with his best friend, all washed away, swishing down the drain as he continued to kiss Harry.   
  
 _Harry_. Oh yes, that was one thing his mind was sure and willing to acknowledge in that moment. He was kissing Harry and hell, he quite liked it. He liked the situation. He liked the hands grabbing at his waist. He liked the one hand that slipped away, only to wrap around him and pick up a similar rhythm of cautious pulls. He liked the way Harry’s lips felt against his. He liked the way Harry’s nose pressed against his cheek as they kissed.   
  
Most of all, he liked the fact that this was Harry.   
  
He liked that it was Harry, whose face he got to see after they finished and pulled away, breathing heavily as their eyes met with a newfound fascination. He liked that it was Harry who was standing beneath the showerhead with him to rinse off. He liked that it was Harry stepping out of the shower with him a minute later, handing him his towel. He liked that it was Harry who playfully pushed him out of the bathroom to get dressed. He liked that it was Harry who couldn’t stop glancing at him as he pulled on his clothes. He liked that it was Harry who pecked him quickly on the lips before they dragged their things out front of the flat to meet the rest of the lads just two minutes after they were supposed to be there.   
  
He liked Harry.   
  
The realization kept running through his head as he climbed into the backseat and took the empty spot beside Niall. Not even a second passed after he buckled in that his eyes found their way to the back of Harry’s head, seated in the middle seat of the van beside Zayn. The two were already talking about something, laughing and grinning like normal.   
  
“Have a good rest?” Niall asked beside him, jerking Louis’ attention away from the curly-haired boy. “Haven’t seen you smiling like that in a long while.” The Irish lad’s eyes were bright with curiosity.   
  
Louis bit his lip to hold back a laugh and nodded. “Yeah, something good like that,” he replied.   
  
The response was apparently enough for the blond, who just grinned and shook his head before turning toward Liam on his other side to talk about a re-run of some game he had caught the night before. The van was a chorus of chattering voices as they pulled away from the apartments, and Louis drowned in the sounds and peace they seemed to bring.   
  
And there was a calmness that had settled across his mind.   
A certainty of a sort that left his nerves at rest.   
  
Feeling a bit more confident than he had in quite some time, he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent off a text.   
  
 **What would you say if I told you I didn’t want to pretend you were just some random bloke?**  
  
He chewed on his lip as he watched the boy in the seat in front of him dig out his phone a moment later. He could see just the side of his face, so he could see Harry’s brow furrow as he read the text.  
  
But he could also see the way the boy’s lips smoothed into a smile as he punched out a response.   
  
Louis’ phone vibrated in his hands just seconds later, and he opened the text with curious eyes.   
  
 **I’d tell you to stop pretending ;)**


	7. Not Ready Yet

What had possessed Harry to send that text in reply, he wasn’t sure.   
  
He still wasn’t sure a few days later, as they were all piled back into the van and then dropped in front of their complex after their last gig of the tour before breaking for the holidays. He followed Louis into their flat with an air of uneasiness, dragging his feet as he was weighed down by a potent mixture of uncertainty, excitement, and fatigue.   
  
He watched the older boy through narrowed eyes. They hadn’t said much of anything since their little text exchange four days prior, nothing of much significance at least. They’d shared some casual banter, a few words here and there to ensure that the other lads didn’t suspect anything was off.   
  
To seem, well, normal.   
  
But their act hadn’t been solely for the other three boys, Harry knew. It had been for the two of them as much as it had been for Niall, Liam, and Zayn. They had needed some sort of proof that things were still, relatively speaking, normal between them. Even as their eyes caught more often than usual across the stage; as they shared an increasing number of knowing smiles; as their hands found as many ways as possible to brush against each other, even if just a ghostly touching of the knuckles; as they found themselves tangled in a mess of limbs in a corner of the green room, lips crashed against each other, breaths quickening, hands searching for some intangible thing, and as they broke apart just seconds before they were interrupted, called to join the other boys backstage; even then they needed some sort of reassurance that things would be… okay.   
  
They had found enough reassurance in their short words in front of the rest of the band, and they had tried not to spend much time alone, just the two of them. Because every time they found themselves alone, it was obvious things had changed.   
  
There was a newfound tension of a sort.   
  
It hung there, just in the air above their heads, whenever the two were left on their own. It fell across the entire room, exciting the particles all around them, thickening the air in such a way that Harry swore he could feel it. Their eyes would meet and it suddenly felt like something was sitting upon their shoulders, creeping around their torsos, sending the hair across their necks to stand, and egging them on through silent whispers.   
  
And it would stay up until the very moment their hands would touch or their lips would meet—up until the moment they both gave in.   
  
So as Harry maneuvered his way around Louis and off into his bedroom (which, by the way, he hadn’t actually slept in for well over a month now) to unpack a few things, he could practically taste the change in the air around him. Blinking felt like a chore as he attempted to ignore the change in the atmosphere of the flat and instead focus on opening his suitcase to switch out a few items, gathering up things he’d want at home for a few days.   
  
A few days away, he thought with a sigh of relief. He missed home and his mom quite a bit, even if it were a tad sappy to admit. Despite how much Harry loved his life at the moment, it would be a nice break for a much needed rest, to get away from the band and the music and the fans and the interviews and—  
  
“Oi, guinea pig!”  
  
And Louis.  
  
Harry jumped at the older boy’s voice, shaking his head as he turned to find him standing in his doorway, a bowl of ice cream tucked in his hands as he leaned against the frame. He was still clad in his post-concert get-up—a plain t-shirt and a pair of sweats that hung teasingly low on his hips, exposing a strip of his tanned midriff that Harry had to tear his eyes away from before he could be caught staring. The younger boy swallowed thickly, clearing his throat as he found his mouth painfully dry. “Um, what’s up?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound like he’d just swallowed a frog. It sure did feel like he had.   
  
If Louis had noticed, he let it go, smiling cheekily at the curly-haired boy. “Just seeing what you’re up to,” he responded with an indifferent shrug. “And wondering if you wanted any ice cream. I left the scoop on the side of the sink in case.”   
  
“Thanks,” was all Harry could think to say as he sent Louis a half smile before turning back to stuffing a few more jumpers into his suitcase. He pulled at the collar of the one he was currently wearing, silently cursing how uncomfortable it suddenly felt.   
  
A sigh from behind him momentarily drew his attention from his packing, and he watched as Louis left his bowl on the dresser near the door and sat down tentatively at the foot of his bed, curling his legs up beneath him. “You seem pretty excited to go home,” he commented as Harry went back to his suitcase. “Packing already. You usually leave it till last minute.”   
  
Harry only managed a shrug. “Just don’t want to have to rush tomorrow, I guess.”   
  
“Ah,” Louis said with a note of understanding and a short nod, but Harry could see the look of doubt crossing the older boy’s features as he glanced at him from beneath his curls. He chose to ignore it.   
  
A silence fell over them as Harry continued to walk about the room and pull open drawers, staring into them blankly before grabbing something—anything—to put into his suitcase, simply to avoid meeting the older boy’s gaze that stayed situated on him everywhere he moved. He could feel it, those eyes following him every which way. And while he would normally find it humorous that Louis was watching him so intently, at the moment he only felt as though he were being smothered.   
  
“Are you sleeping in here tonight?”   
  
The question broke into the silence a couple minutes later, so out of the blue that Harry couldn’t even stop himself from turning around to meet Louis’ gaze with a cocked brow. “What?” he asked, his tone brushing upon incredulous. Even though the possibility had crossed his mind. “Where did that even come from?”   
  
Louis broke his eyes away first this time, lowering them to the floor of the room as he pulled one leg up to his chest and hugged it, resting his chin on his knee. “I, I don’t know,” he said with a shrug and slight frown that said otherwise. He let out a sigh before continuing, eyes still downcast as his fingers played mindlessly with his toes. “I just, I don’t know, I feel like… I can go back to pretending, you know, if that’s what you want, but I don’t… I don’t think I’m ready for this, this thing, this _whatever_  to be over yet. I’m not ready for that yet,” he finished so softly, his voice so small that Harry almost couldn’t make out his words.   
  
But he did, and as they sunk in Harry made his way over to the older boy and sat down beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him into a side hug. As Louis relaxed against his side, Harry could feel the air around them change again, becoming lighter with each passing second. “Well, good,” he settled once Louis had relaxed enough to rest his head against Harry’s shoulder. “‘Cause last time I checked, we’ve still got a ways to go before you can even claim to have things sorted.”   
  
He could feel Louis’ brow furrow against his neck. “Do we?”   
  
A chuckle fell from Harry’s lips and he turned slightly before saying in a whisper, as though someone might overhear, “You couldn’t have possibly thought I’d set you loose when all we’ve done is snog?”   
  
Louis shook his head against him, letting out a faint sound of disagreement. “You forgot about the shower the other day,” he reminded him quietly, and Harry could feel the heat radiating from the older boy’s cheeks as he spoke.   
  
“Ohhh, right, the shower, the shower, how could I forget,” Harry repeated with an airy laugh, squeezing his grip around the other boy’s waist. “But still, even with that, you’re still practically a virgin.”   
  
“Shut up, Harry,” Louis shot back, though a giggle betrayed him as he turned farther into Harry’s side and brought his legs up to rest across the younger boy’s lap. He shifted a bit until comfortable, curling into the younger boy and sighing contentedly as he rested his head into the nook of Harry’s neck. They were silent for a few minutes, just sitting like that, until Louis spoke up, his tone reserved, “You know, I can. Pretend, I mean.”   
  
Harry groaned against Louis’ hair, drawing his lips away from gentle kiss. “I told you not to, didn’t I?” he asked.   
  
“I know you did,” Louis agreed with a nod against Harry’s chest. “But I wasn’t sure if you were joking because, I mean, since then things have been…”  
  
“Tense,” Harry offered, receiving a hum of agreement. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. I just, I know it’s stupid since I’m the one who sent it, but would you laugh if I said I wasn’t sure where that text left us?”   
  
“No,” Louis replied all too quickly, both boys chuckling slightly at his eagerness to ensure they’re on the same page. “But we’re still us, Harry,” he added after a moment, pulling away just far enough to meet the younger boy’s eyes. “Just… trying to get things sorted, that’s all.”   
  
“Right,” Harry agreed with a smile, his eyes twinkling as he realized that he couldn’t feel the tension any longer. The air no longer felt thick, there was no longer an invisible weight pushing him down, and instead he felt a thrill of excitement go rushing down his spine as he wrapped his arms a bit farther around the older boy to bring him sitting fully upon his lap. With a smile still adorning his features, he leant forward to press his lips against Louis’ in a proper kiss. He lingered for a moment, letting the kiss simmer before he pulled back, locking their gazes. “Speaking of getting things sorted,” he began, pleased to find a light blush scattering the older boy’s cheeks. “You ready to call it a night?”   
  
“Depends,” Louis said, his eyes looking down at his one hand that was currently wringing itself in and out of the material of Harry’s fairly baggy jumper. “Will you be hiding away in here like a stranger or joining me?”   
  
A grin pulled at Harry’s lips and he pressed a kiss to the tip of Louis’ nose, at which the older boy scrunched up his features. Harry just laughed. “You’re cute, you know that?” he asked, not expecting a response as he pushed forward to nuzzle against the Doncaster lad’s neck. He continued, smiling against his warm skin, “You can’t think I’d leave the birthday boy all alone on his birthday night, can you?”   
  
“Well, I can, but that would be very, very mean, Harold,” Louis responded, breathy chuckles following suit as Harry began to press slow, open-mouth kisses along the length of his neck. “I’ll never forgive you for having them sing happy birthday dear  _Boo bear_  tonight, you do know that, don’t you?”   
  
“I think I can do a few things to change that,” Harry mumbled against his skin, perhaps a bit too confidently.   
  
“Oh, really?” Louis questioned and tried his best to sound doubtful.   
  
But Harry could hear right through the older boy’s false disbelief as he latched onto one particular spot on Louis’ neck, off to the side, just an inch or so from his collarbone. He hummed a distracted, “Mhm,” in response as he sucked at the skin lazily, but with a focus he usually lacked. And with the knowledge that they would be going home the next day, he didn’t hesitate to bite down on the skin a couple times, unafraid of leaving a mark for the world to see.   
  
Louis smiled at the attention, but he squirmed under Harry’s touch, which caused the younger boy to pull away just slightly, chuckling against his skin as he drew back. “Hey,” he scorned lightly and pushed Harry away with a hand to his chest, “I still have to go home and face five girls, don’t give me something I can’t cover up.”  
  
“Fiiine,” Harry whined and followed Louis’ request, turning his attention back upward until his lips fell back against those of the older boy. They slid together simply, with an ease so natural perhaps it should have worried the curly-haired lad. But he didn’t give it a second thought, not even as he slid an arm under Louis’ legs and lifted him from his lap as he stood from the bed, despite all of Louis’ protests and playful slaps. The older boy stopped his attempts to free himself though, as Harry led them out of the room and down the hallway. He navigated through the flat slowly, his socked feet shuffling across the floors and blindly leading him to their destination. It wasn’t until he had placed Louis down at the foot of his own bed that the two finally broke apart.   
  
There was an odd sort of pleasure twirling in the pit of his stomach as he realized Louis didn’t want to break apart just yet. The older boy let out a little whine of complaint as Harry went to pull away, and his hands slid to the back of his neck to ensure the curly-haired boy couldn’t move any farther. With fingers caught in his curls, Harry was in no position to deny Louis what he clearly wanted.   
  
Nor did Harry want to.   
  
He followed Louis’ gentle pulls and eased down on top of the older boy, letting his lips take the lead. His knees fell to the bed on either side of Louis’ hips, his hands beside his shoulders, and he bent down over him to make certain that their kiss would not end too soon.   
  
Rather, it deepened in the minutes that followed.   
  
Lips parted willingly and welcomingly, pent up desires finally taking charge as the two found themselves getting lost in the heat that began to rise around them. Although it had only been days that they had been trying to resist every little urge, it felt like it had been weeks, months even. They would exaggerate to the ends of the earth if they were ever asked, for logic was a thing to be forgotten once they got this far—hands traveling aimlessly, fingers trying to feel every centimeter of the other, tongues dancing together, lips molded together as though they were made to match.   
  
Minutes began to lump together and time was completely lost as the two shifted into an attempt of a sitting position, enough so that Harry could sit back on Louis’ hips without their lips breaking apart. His hands rested at the exposed skin along Louis’ lower back for a moment, fingers fanning out to cover the space, the space that he realized was no one’s, not that it could ever really be owned. But he realized in that moment that no one else had any sort of claims to this boy he was kissing. No one else was kissing him like this, holding him in this way, feeling this skin that he was being so effortlessly granted permission to touch.   
  
It left his head spinning, and his heart began to pound a bit faster with the realization.   
  
It only made him push harder into the kiss, crashing his lips against Louis’ with a force he had yet to use. A force that stemmed from an overwhelming feeling of pleasure and pride, a gratification of a sort for simply being allowed to  _be_  here, like this.   
  
He let his hands wander from the small of Louis’ back and up beneath his t-shirt, fingers curled and trailing across his warm skin in mindless routes. They traveled the length of his back before weaving their way around to the front of his torso, where they then worked to push up the thin material of his shirt. His fingers bunched up the piece of clothing in slow motions, moving with an unidentified rhythm. They finally broke apart just long enough for Harry to roll the shirt the rest of the way up Louis’ torso and then wrestle it free from his arms, tossing it carelessly away.   
  
And when he returned, Louis’ lips met his with an unprecedented brutality. Under any other circumstances, he might have been taken aback, surprised at least a bit. But he was too far gone to notice.   
  
Their kiss gradually lessened, as Harry’s lips began to drift, drawing a trail of hot, lazy kisses from Louis’ lips, down his chin, across his jaw, in broken, misshapen circles along his neck, all the way down to his chest. He shifted to accommodate the move, arching his back before slipping his feet back down to the floor to continue his nonsensical path.   
  
The lower he got, the slower his kisses became. His lips barely left Louis’ skin by the time they reached just below his navel, the older boy having already fallen back upon the mattress. He could feel Louis’ muscles tense beneath him, and his lips curled into an impish smirk as he felt the older boy shudder beneath his touches, right as his fingers had gained the nerve to slip beneath the elastic of his waistband.   
  
He eased the sweatpants and boxers down regardless.   
  
“W-what are you doing?” Louis’ voice broke into the silence of the room, his words only a cracked whisper.   
  
Harry bit his lip to hold back a chuckle, and he pulled away from Louis just enough to look up at him. “I told you we had a lot more to cover,” was all he said, smirk shining through as his eyes locked with those of the older boy.   
  
“But Harry, are you sure we –”  
  
That was the last that was heard before Harry yanked Louis’ sweatpants and boxers down all the way, letting them lie in a heap at his ankles. He sized up Louis’ length for only a short moment before wrapping a warm hand around the base and sliding it up to the tip and back.   
  
The older boy hissed at the unexpected contact, but it was evident the touches were everything but unwanted.   
  
With a smirk crossing his lips, Harry did nothing except for watch for a minute. He watched as Louis fell back into the mattress entirely, watched with humored eyes as the older boy’s face contorted with what one could easily mistake as pain, watched with intrigue as his hands fisted into the comforter of the bed, fingers wringing into the material and drawing it upward as he tried to keep his hips from bucking upward.   
  
Eyes jerking away from the knuckles that were nearly white from their grip on the blanket, Harry turned his focus. Without hesitation, he leaned down from his knelt position and placed a trail of kisses up the side of the other boy’s length, keeping his hand down at the base. His lips pursed tentatively against the skin, all the way up to the tip where he paused for the briefest moment before taking him into his mouth. He sucked and teased the tip with his tongue, moving his hand against what he couldn’t quite reach, but he mostly listened.   
  
He listened as Louis finally gave in, his breathing interrupted between little whines and moans that Harry found surprisingly appealing. He listened to the name that continuously rolled off the older boy’s tongue, and Harry knew that Louis wasn’t pretending. He listened as Louis’ breathing hitched, as his inhales and exhales shortened tremendously while his fingers managed to tangle into the mess of the younger boy’s curls.   
  
And he listened as Louis tried to warn him, managing to choke out an airy, “Harry, I-I think I’m gonna –”   
  
He listened, but he didn’t make an effort to move. He stayed where he was and guided Louis’ hips as the older boy arched up against his hands before stilling. Louis seemed to freeze for a lengthy moment, lost in an indubitable haze, and Harry took the opportunity to finish him off, swallowing as he pulled fully away. Drawing back, he inched his way back up the length of Louis’ reclined body with yet another trail of kisses, these ones much softer and chaste than any of those prior.   
  
Louis was still trying to get his breathing under control as Harry took to lying next to him, turned to face the older boy as he draped an arm across his bare torso. A smile slid across his lips while he watched the boy come down from his high, his chest rising and falling in slower and slower intervals until he could finally command his body once again. And when he could, the first thing he did was turn and plant his lips against Harry’s in a crushing kiss. “What the hell was that?” he asked with an incredulous chuckle as he pulled away, his features lit with humor. But he frowned as his eyes fell to Harry’s clothed chest. “And why are you still wearing this?”   
  
The younger boy laughed at Louis’ tugs of his jumper, and he didn’t hesitate to sit up long enough to pull the material up and over his head and to shimmy out of his pants, leaving on only his boxers. He returned to Louis’ side but motioned with a silent jerk of the head for him to move under the blankets.  
  
“That,” Harry spoke as they were both situated beneath the covers, turned to face each other, “my young grasshopper, is called a blowjob and I refuse to believe you’ve never received one before. Giving one, okay, that I understand. But receiving?”   
  
Louis pinched Harry’s stomach with a laugh. “I know what a blowjob is, you ass,” he chastised, albeit teasingly. “I just… where did that even come from?”   
  
Harry shrugged against the pillows as a silly smile pulled back his lips. “I told you there was still more I had to teach you, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, well you can’t teach what you don’t know,” Louis shot back.   
  
“And what makes you think that’s something I don’t know how to do?” Harry asked, cocking a brow. “Sure did sound like I knew what I was doing just now.”   
  
“Beginner’s luck?” Louis tried, but the smirk on Harry’s face told him otherwise. “You mean you’ve… before?”   
  
Harry was grinning stupidly, and a deep blush had claimed his cheeks. He was thankful for the darkness of the room as he ducked his head into the nook of Louis’ neck, trying to hide from his own slight embarrassment as he admitted quietly, “Even fifteen-year-old boys in Cheshire need to experiment, okay?”   
  
Harry didn’t watch as the words registered across Louis’ face. Instead, he stayed curled into the older boy, waiting for him to say something. He finally breathed out a light laugh, as Louis’ only reply was, “Okay.”  
  
He thought about saying something more, perhaps about him knowing a thing or two or maybe even bringing up again that there was still quite a few things for the older boy to learn. But slumber was drawing nearer; he could feel it crawling upon both of them as Louis’ hand that had been brushing through his curls slowed to a near stop. And so he gave in to the dreamland and let himself fall from reality, but not until he had whispered a gentle, “Happy birthday, Lou,” against the other boy’s neck and kissed him to sleep. 


	8. Christmas Missmas

Being back home was fucking weird.   
  
Well, okay, it was nice. Louis was truly thankful for the change in scenery, thrilled to see his mum and sisters again, and overly relaxed by the mere comfort of his house back in Doncaster. These were things he could not even attempt to deny.   
  
And usually, sure, going back home after being away for so long was always somewhat weird. Leaving the fame that surrounded the five lads on a daily basis and returning home, where he was plucked straight out of the spotlight and thrown under a mass of a totally different set of girly squeals (some days those bickering sisters rivaled the hysterical fangirls), was always a bit mindboggling.   
  
But this time, things were different.   
  
Louis realized as he was sitting down for dinner with his family that a lot of things had changed since the last time he had sat in this very chair. He wasn’t referring to the obvious changes—the band’s popularity that seemed to be infinitely growing or to the way his hairstyle had become noticeably more intentionally unkempt over the months. The changes he meant were far more subtle, things that had revealed themselves bit by bit throughout the weeks of painstakingly peeling away the innermost layers of himself. Things that no one else knew about him yet, bar Harry who was exploring this new world with him.   
  
It kind of humored Louis when he took a step back and noticed how it felt like everything,  _everything_ had changed, and yet everyone around him hadn’t even an inkling of the changes in his life. No one at the dining table with him that evening knew he hadn’t spoken with Eleanor in weeks, assuming, like everyone else, that they were still very much together. No one knew that Louis wasn’t even interested anymore.   
  
No one knew that he had confronted a part of himself that he had been trying to ignore, to sweep under the rug, to shove to the very back, neglected, dark corners of his mind to, hopefully, stay forever; no one knew that he had pulled that part of himself out for a quick peek and incidentally given in entirely—given in to himself.   
  
No one knew that Louis was currently in the midst of trying on himself like one tries on a new outfit, trying his hardest to make it fit because god, it just felt  _so_  comfortable.   
  
No one knew that his heart seemed to stammer in his chest every time the name “ _Hazza_ ” lit up across the front of his phone with a light vibration, and Louis tried to ignore that one because that was just weird. Harry texted him all the time; now was no different. Right?   
  
So while Louis was catching up with everything happening in the lives of his mum and sisters, he couldn’t seem to hide the little smirk that found itself burrowing at the left-hand corner of his mouth. A knowing little smirk it was, bemused that despite that it felt as though nothing was the same, he was still the same Louis to the people sitting around him. To them, nothing had changed.   
  
And Louis wasn’t so certain he wanted to inform that they were wrong.   
  


**

  
  
_Birthday good? – H xx_  
  
Louis breathed out a sigh as his eyes scanned across the simple text. He closed the door to his bedroom behind him and leaned against it, a smile sliding across his lips as his fingers swiped across his phone to punch out a response.   
  
 **Brilliant! Well, as good as it can be with D and P both hyped up on sugar from icing cookies for good ole st nick ha – L x**  
  
He glanced about his room after sending off the text, his eyes bouncing across the walls and the few pieces of furniture. Posters of bands and a couple nameless models were still hanging haphazardly from his walls, pictures of grinning friends and school acquaintances were pinned on a corkboard by his desk, a few framed ones of close friends and family lined his dresser, all remnants of his life before X-Factor still living as though nothing had changed.   
  
Hands sweating a bit as memories came swirling about, Louis took a few steps into his childhood room and leaned down to look at a few of the photos pinned to the corkboard. Smiling faces stared back at him as he studied the pictures, trying to remember. It suddenly felt as though everything captured in front of him had happened a decade ago, rather than only a couple years back. A couple pictures of the cast for their school’s production of Grease caught Louis’ eye and his stomach did a weird flip-flop as he realized he couldn’t even remember the names of a handful of the people photographed. He swallowed dryly, biting his lip, and almost jumped as his phone vibrated in his pocket.   
  
 _And as good as it can be without me there, huh? ;) Kidding. Just be glad there wasn’t a cake… I don’t think P could handle that much_  
  
Louis couldn’t help a smile, thankful for the distraction, and was about to type out a reply as his phone vibrated again in his hands.   
  
 _How’s the rest of the tommos, btw?_  
 ****  
They’re good. Loud as always. And no you’re right – would be hell of a lot better if you were here. Louis paused, thumbs resting on the little keyboard as he read over his words. He chose not to backspace but added on before hitting send: **And the rest of the lads too ;) How’s lovely little Cheshire?**  
 **  
** _Quiet. Mum and Robin had some xmas party, Gem had plans. All alone on Christmas Eve :(_  
 ****  
Aww poor little Hazza, sad to be all alone in the world  
  
 _I know. Last year you rejected me, now this year I’m alone… should really just stop trying_  
 ****  
… I rejected you??  
  
 _Haha okay so it wasn’t really rejection I just tried to call you on twitcam last year and you didn’t pick up :P_  
 ****  
Ohhh sorry lol I went out last year  
  
 _Yeah if I recall right you wouldn’t shut up about how pissed you got that night… Surprised you’re not repeating history tonight_  
 ****  
And if I recall right a massive hangover on Christmas day in the Tomlinson household is nowhere near delightful. don’t wanna repeat that experience again thanks  
  
 _Understandable. Doubt D and P let you even try to sleep that one off_  
 ****  
Think they came barreling in a little before six… and I hadn’t gotten home till after three, I think. no fun :(  
  
 _Sucks to be lou sometimes huh?_  
 ****  
Only sometimes ;)  
  
His phone didn’t vibrate after that, and he exhaled a sigh as he flopped back on his bed. It felt a lot more comfortable than he remembered, and he let his eyes close as he relaxed into the mattress and pillows, mind wandering, phone resting on his chest. His thoughts flickered back to dinner with his family, to the light conversation they had held, to the questions they had thrown at him, and his eyes shot open at remembrance of the one. It had caught him so off guard that he’d had to stumble through a lame response. And now, as he remembered, before he knew what he doing, he found himself sending off another text.   
 ****  
Mum asked me how Eleanor was tonight…  
  
A response came a couple minutes later.   
 **  
** _And…?_  
 ****  
And I told her she was all right. but i like, i think i must have been blushing and i was tongue-tied and lottie looked like she was about to piss herself and mum looked awfully amused too :/  
  
 _Wow. I am so sorry I missed this beautiful moment in Louis Tomlinson history. Truly wish I could have been there to witness this firsthand_  
 ****  
shut up, you twat. It was embarrassing. This is that part where you’re supposed to tell me it’s alright and that no one suspects a thing and some reassuring shit like that  
  
 _You’re right, I’m sorry. Everything is perfectly wonderful and I’m sure no one will remember this incident in the morning, boo bear. There’s nothing to worry about :) … but what is it they’re not supposed to suspect?_ ****  
  
That I was lying about El. Cos I mean it’s not like I know how she is. Haven’t even heard from her in like a month  
  
 _Lou it’s not like your family will know otherwise. Just text her and ask if you’re really that scared about lying. You’re still friends anyway_  
 ****  
yeah but I’m not just gonna text her up on xmas eve to ask how she is. she’ll assume something’s wrong  
  
 _… is something wrong?_  
 ****  
no. not really. I just… I feel like I should tell them  
  
 _about? situation bonobo??_  
  
A chuckle fell from Louis’ lips at the ridiculous name he’d given the whole situation; he hadn’t thought Harry would remember that. He’d rambled it off after four in the morning one night, after all. Most of those conversations were forgotten come morning anyway.   
 ****  
Yeah… well not the whole situation obviously, I’m not going to tell them I’m sucking my best mate’s face off to try and figure things out  
  
That sounded weird. but you know what I mean :p   
  
 _Right ;) probably best not to drop that bomb on xmas morning though, lou, so just… forget about it for tonight, yeah?_  
 ****  
I’ll try. Easier said than done but you’re right :) turning in soon?  
  
 _Probably… you?_  
 ****  
Nope, mum needs help wrapping up a few more things for the girls.  
  
 _i’ll leave you to it then. ‘night boo :) - H xx_  
 ****  
goodnight guinea pig. happy christmas! – L xx  
  
Louis was already heading back downstairs when Harry sent a reciprocating reply of holiday wishes. He was reading the text through a second time as he came to join his mother in the sitting room, a smile he didn’t even realize was there strung merrily across his features.   
  
“Well someone’s grinning from ear to ear,” his mum observed, glancing up from the box she currently had laid out on the table, gift wrap underneath it, strips of tape hanging from three different fingers as she began to rearrange the paper around the box. “Who’re you texting at this time of night on Christmas eve anyway?”   
  
“Just Harry,” he replied, slipping his phone into his pocket as he plopped down on the floor beside Jay.   
  
“ _Just_  Harry,” she mocked lightly, shaking her head. “How’s he doing?”   
  
“Good as ever,” Louis answered simply, already pulling a boxed gift toward him along with a roll of wrapping paper. “His family kind of ditched him tonight, but he doesn’t have too much else to complain about. That I know of, I mean.”   
  
He didn’t notice the twinkle that flourished in his mother’s eye every time Louis brought up his curly-haired friend. If he paid more attention, perhaps he would have noticed how Jay softened a bit under the fondness that Louis used in conjunction of every conversation about Harry, but he didn’t. And now was no exception, as he kept his eyes focused on wrapping the gift—some doll Daisy had been begging for all year it seemed—in front of him, pleasantly oblivious to his mother’s look that had fallen upon him.   
  
“That’s a shame,” Jay spoke again after a minute. “You should’ve brought him here, then. Breaks my heart to picture him all alone on Christmas eve.”   
  
Louis snorted at the idea. “Mum, you know Anne needs to see her precious little boy every once in a while too. You can’t steal him at Christmastime.”   
  
“Can’t I?” Jay wondered, much to the amusement of Louis who whipped his head upward at the question and shouted back a rather scornful, “ _Mum!_ ”   
  
His mother chuckled at his reaction, shaking her head. “Anne could come too of course, you know I love her company.”   
  
Louis knew that, and although his heart kind of stuttered at the thought of bringing Harry and Anne both up over their break for a visit, he knew it wouldn’t happen. “Yeah, well,” he said, clearing his throat and pinning on a smile to cover the frown that had momentarily conquered his features, “they probably don’t want to spend their holiday around a bunch of arguing little girls. Besides, Harry’s probably sick of me.”   
  
“Harry, sick of you?” Jay gaped. “I don’t think that boy could ever tire of you, Lou.”   
  
Louis was surprised to find how much he wished his mother’s words were true.   
  


**

  
  
Louis was drunk.   
  
Louis was really, really drunk.   
  
Louis was way too drunk for this, this whole… walking thing. He spared a glare down at his feet, which seemed to somehow find their way to trip over each other, and he let out a squeak as he stumbled forward across the gravel and into his friend Stan. He grabbed on to the other boy to steady himself and was thankful when Stan only helped to keep him up, rather than shove him off.   
  
It was a couple days before the end of the year, and there really wasn’t any reason for the two boys to be out, getting so pissed off their feet drunk, but fuck it, Louis was home and he wanted to get drunk with his best friend.   
  
So that’s exactly what he did. They were now steps away from the backdoor to Stan’s house, and the other boy was fumbling with his keys to try and find the right one. Louis was in no form to try and help, so he stood watching, running his hands along his upper arms while trying to ignore the bitter cold that was finally registering with his mind. Maybe he should’ve taken that coat his mother had suggested.   
  
“Staaaaaaaan, I’m cold!” Louis whined, not giving the volume of his voice much thought, despite that it was currently past two in the morning.   
  
“No shit,” Stan replied, considerably more sober than Louis; he’d always been able to handle his liquor better than his celebrity friend could. “There’s snow on the ground, you genius. Of course it’s – got it!”   
  
Louis never thought he had been so happy to hear a key slide into a lock before in his entire life, and he shoved past his friend and into the warmth of the all-to-familiar house. Stan mumbled something after him, but he didn’t bother to try and catch it as he let his feet lead him along a familiar path to the bedroom on the first floor of the house. He shuffled his way through a door and collapsed onto a familiar bed, his face slamming into the pillows with a long groan.   
  
Laughter sounded behind him and the bed dipped next to him, but their bodies didn’t touch; the bed was large enough for the two of them to share without anything getting too awkward. Hence why it had always been their go-to collapse spot after a good night of drinking.   
  
“You owe me a shag,” Stan’s voice broke into Louis’ haze a minute or so later.   
  
Louis’ brow furrowed into the pillows, but he couldn’t be bothered enough to turn his head. “I don’t shag blokes like you, Stan.”   
  
Stan laughed, slugging him in the arm. “Not what I meant, dimwit. I had to drag you out of there before I could even get to third base with her.”   
  
“Who?” Louis asked, genuinely curious enough to roll onto his side and face his friend.   
  
“The girl I was with, you twat.” Stan flicked him on the forehead. “Are you really that out of it?”   
  
“Oh! Pretty girl with the dark brown hair,” Louis smiled, sounding far too accomplished for remembering such a little thing. “Don’t worry, Stanley. Next time I won’t drag you away from the pretty girl.”   
  
“Yeah, maybe I’ll have to find you a pretty girl to get you off my back the whole time,” Stan teased, fatigue entering his laughter.   
  
Louis shrugged, though the motion went unnoticed against the mattress. “Or a pretty boy,” he blurted out, grinning in his stupor. He was too far gone to recognize the words slipping so carelessly out of his mouth. “I like pretty boys,” he continued. “A pretty boy with curly hair. I like curly hair. Harry’s got curly hair. He’s a pretty boy, isn’t he? Harry?”  
  
Stan was staring at Louis with uncertainty, a crease pressed across his brow as he bit his lip. There were so many things he could have said, so many things flying through his mind at that moment, but the only question that made its way into the room was, “What the hell are you going on about, Tomlinson?”   
  
But Louis didn’t answer, only chuckling in response, his eyes lost as his cheeks bunched up so much with the action. “I miss Harry,” he stated after a moment, his laughter having subsided. “Is that weird? It’s only been like five days. That’s weird, isn’t it, to miss him already? I don’t usually miss him.”   
  
“Not that weird. You two are closer than us, anyway,” Stan offered, surprised to hear Louis laugh at such a simple answer.   
  
“In some ways, yeah, a  _lot_  closer,” Louis agreed, a cheesy grin filling his features. “I miss my guinea pig.”   
  
Stan snorted at that and set his eyes on the ceiling above them. “Mate, how drunk are you?” he wondered. “You don’t have a guinea pig.”   
  
“Yes, I do!” Louis shouted back, not unlike an adamant child.   
  
His friend only sniggered. “No you don’t, Lou. Get some sleep.”   
  
There was silence for a few moments, until Louis spoke up rather quietly, “But I miss him.”   
  
Stan’s brow furrowed. “Who?”   
  
“Harrrrrryyyyyyyyy,” Louis whined, the sobriety gone from his voice once more.   
  
“Well he’s not here, so go to sleep, Louis,” was all Stan had to offer.   
Apparently that wasn’t good enough.   
  
“Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harrrryyyy,” Louis began almost chanting, though his voice was, thankfully, quiet as he rambled off the absent boy’s name in a mantra of sorts. It wasn’t until he started adding on in a whine how much he missed the boy that he felt an arm reach across his torso and a hand slip into the front pocket of his skinny jeans. He thought it odd, but his mantra seemed far more important at the time. He didn’t stop his mindless rambling until he heard Stan’s voice over his own.   
  
“—Sorry, man, but he won’t shut up, and I really don’t think he’s going to pass out until he talks to you.”   
  
And the next thing he knew, a phone was being shoved against his ear with a strict “Talk.”   
  
“ _Louis?_ ”   
  
Louis wasn’t sure he’d ever sobered up quite so quickly at the mere sound of one person’s voice. His eyes shot open, and he was suddenly very aware of his friend staring at him expectantly and the fuzziness in his head and okay, maybe he wasn’t that sober. But he was now certainly conscious of the boy on the other end of the line.   
  
“Harry?”   
  
“ _Yeah, what’s wrong, Lou?_ ”   
  
Louis gnawed on his lower lip and sat up; swinging his legs over the edge of the bed before replying in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper, “Nothing.”   
  
An almost cynical laugh sounded on the other end. “ _Louis, Stan wouldn’t have called me up at 2:48 in the morning if nothing was wrong. What’s the matter? Did something happen?_ ”   
  
“No, nothing happened,” Louis responded as a door clicked shut behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and felt his shoulders sag in relief as he found the room empty. “I just… I missed you.”   
  
He hated himself the second the words left his mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut and cringed, expecting an outburst of patronizing laughter. Instead, his ears were only met with an airy, breathless sort of chuckle and the words, “ _Stan called me up in the middle of the night because you miss me?_ ”   
  
“I think so?” Despite the lack of laughter on Harry’s end of the call, he still wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.   
  
“ _That’s cute._ ”   
  
“Shut up, you prat.”   
  
“ _What? It is cute, Lou, I’m sorry to say. But if it helps any… I missed you too._ ”   
  
Louis ignored the involuntary twisting of his stomach; it was probably just the alcohol, anyway. But that didn’t stop him from asking, “You did?”   
  
“ _Yeah, of course I did._ ”  
  
“That’s cute,” he mocked.  
  
“ _Shut up, Louis. But hey, now that that’s sorted, maybe you should go to sleep so Stan can catch some rest too now, all right?_ ”  
  
“Yeah, okay…”  
  
“ _I’ll see you in a couple days, yeah? It’s not that long._ ”  
  
“I know.”   
  
“ _Love you, Lou._ ”   
  
“… Love you too, Harry.”   
  
“ _See you soon, boo, okay?_ ”  
  
“Okay.”   
  
“ _Okay._ ”   
  
The line went dead a few seconds later without an official goodbye, and Louis dropped the phone from his ear, hitting the ‘end call’ button. If he had been a bit more sober, he might have acknowledged the flip-flop of his stomach as more than just an upset tummy.


	9. It's Enough

Harry didn’t know what he was doing.   
  
All he knew was that he was about thirty-five minutes away from a particular house in Doncaster that he had decided to head toward on what must have been a whim. The decision had to have been made on a whim, because there was certainly no reason for Harry to have packed his bags a few days early, shove them into the boot of his car, and begin driving toward Doncaster without even realizing it until he was halfway there.   
  
He hadn’t even left a note for his mum that morning – that was surely evidence enough of how out of it Harry had been when he had hastily and unconsciously (or so he chose to believe) made the decision to drive to the Tomlinson’s.   
  
And as he drove, he tried not to think too much of the situation. Sure, the band was on break for the holidays, but that didn’t mean it was weird to go and visit his best mate during their time off, right? No. He was allowed to go and see Louis if he wanted to. Yeah. That wasn’t weird. They were mates; there was nothing weird about it.   
  
Even though Harry knew that the reason he was on the road into Doncaster right now came in the form of a phone call the night before.   
  
He would be absolutely mental to make this trip solely on a call like that, though. It had been a drunken call; he could hear the slight slur of Louis’ words, and he knew the boy well enough to know he didn’t make phone calls at that time of night, no matter his emotions.   
  
Yet here Harry was, pushing his foot down a bit more firmly on the gas pedal and speeding down the road, his eyes set on the empty lane in front of him, fueled by three simple words that he couldn’t seem to shake from the depths of his mind no matter how hard he tried.  _I missed you._  
  
He had barely slept any more after hanging up.  _Hemissesyouhemissesyouhemissesyou_  was incessantly running through his mind at a volume far too loud for him to even consider sleep.  _He misses you._  
  
Fuck, he couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t even deal with his own reaction to the whole thing. Why was he overanalyzing everything? Friends can miss friends. Those words meant nothing. Right?   
  
But this wasn’t just a friend; this was Louis. And no matter how many times Harry said to himself (several times aloud, too) that that didn’t make any difference, he knew it did.   
  
Because this was  _Louis._  
  
Louis, who he couldn’t stop thinking about regardless of what he was doing. Louis, whose face had bombarded his thoughts at the very worst possible of times. Louis, whose name he’d had to swallow while reaching his climax with some girl – Emily or Lily or Suzie or something just as innocent and sweet and far too feminine sounding to his ears – a couple nights before. Louis, whose lips he had kissed more than once and for some reasons he would much rather not ever have to acknowledge. Louis, whom he actually rather liked kissing. Louis, whose hands seemed much more appealing than any of the soft, delicate ones that had touched him previously. Louis, who,  _fuck_ , he had sucked off the night before they returned home.   
  
Louis, who was clearly becoming more and more than just his best mate.   
  
The thought alone had Harry’s stomach churning as he blinked his attention back to the open road before him. Because despite this realization dawning on him early, early that morning, he was also struck across the face with the reminder that oh, right, this was Louis and Harry was only helping him try to come to terms with himself being gay. That was all. Harry was a so-called guinea pig and a fantastic mate for helping Louis out and absolutely nothing more.   
  
But Louis missed him.   
  
And that was enough to send the curly-haired boy’s mind reeling, and he stepped on the pedal a bit harder until he was racing the speed limit and he knew that familiar Doncaster home was only several turns away.   
  
He circled the block a few times too many, slowing down in front of the house his eyes recognized with a slight jump of the heart each time, and he only finally pulled to a stop with a self-deprecating, “What the hell is wrong with you, Styles.” It wasn’t a question; he knew exactly what was wrong.   
  
Pulling the key out of the ignition, Harry let his eyes wander across the facade of the house. There were a few holiday decorations hung across the front, a line of lights strung around the door, though they were currently off during the day. It looked just as he remembered it, and yet something felt… different. So different that he almost slapped himself when he realized how foolish he was being, urging his heart to beat normally and prying his fingers from the steering wheel, where his grip had been so tight that his knuckles shone a bright, painful white.   
  
If he didn’t know any better, he would have said he was nervous.   
 __  
Nervous?  
  
He actually laughed at himself and shook his head, running a hand through his curls. Now he was just being downright ridiculous.   
  
With another laugh, Harry finally unbuckled and forced himself out of the car, standing on wobbly legs that felt like jello the whole way up the walk. He left his bags in the car, not because he was worried about being sent home (he knew he wouldn’t be – even if this were weird, just showing up out of the blue, Jay would force him to stay) but because he didn’t want to come off as too eager with his intentions.   
 __  
Intentions?  
  
Another laugh, another shake of the head, and Harry was standing on the welcome mat on the front stoop of the Tomlinson house. His eyes found the doorbell and he raised his hand to it before stopping, raised knuckle only centimeters away from the white plastic. A sudden change of mind and he found himself rapping his knuckle against wood, instead of pressing against plastic to hear the telltale  _ding-dong_  that would echo throughout the house and alert everyone of his presence.   
  
For some reason, he didn’t want everyone to know of his arrival, at least not right away.   
  
The door was tentatively pulled back less than a minute later, opening in such a slow, cautious manner that Harry was actually holding his breath until a mop of dirty blond hair was revealed.   
  
The little girl’s face broke into a grin, and she darted forward and onto the front stoop in her bare feet to tackle Harry with a hug, squeaking out his name as she went. Harry chuckled as he put his arms around her and squeezed once for good measure. “How’ve you been, Daisy?”   
  
“Good!” She beamed while pulling far enough away to stare up at Harry, arms still wrapped snugly around his midsection. “What’re you doing here?”   
  
His heart stammered at the question, his smile faltering slightly, but he widened it after a second. “Wouldn’t be a good holiday if I didn’t get to see my favorite girls in the world, would it?” he asked, winning another squeeze from Daisy.   
  
Seemingly satisfied with his response, she tugged him inside without another word. She waited for him to toe off his Converse beside a pair of Uggs (that he knew belonged to Louis and not any of the girls) near the front door, just how Jay liked, and then proceeded to pull him toward the living room. _Cinderella_  was playing on the television, and from where they entered the room none of the Tomlinson audience huddled on the couch could spot them.   
  
Daisy led Harry into the room quietly, her eyes jumping to the telly as soon as they entered and then pointedly back to Harry as though to say  _shh, don’t interrupt._  
  
He nodded and gave her a pat on the back, jerking his head toward the movie to tell her to go back and join the rest of them, which she obeyed willingly. Harry lingered by the doorway as he watched, observing as Daisy ran back into the room and hopped onto the couch, snuggling in between Felicite and Lottie. Inching closer he could see over the back of the couch that Phoebe was curled up on Louis’ lap, barely keeping her eyes open to watch as Cinderella made her dashing exit from the Prince’s ball and to her carriage at the strike of twelve.   
  
Harry stood back and observed an apparently lazy day at the Tomlinson household and couldn’t help but feel slightly bad for intruding. The thought of leaving occurred to him for a moment, thinking that he could just sneak back out before anyone else could spot him. But as soon as the thought passed his mind, those three words that had plagued him since the night before came rushing back, teasing him enough to shove away the mere idea of taking so much as a single step back toward the door.   
  
So with those words hitting him again and again, Harry carefully made his way to stand right at the back of the couch. His feet shuffled silently across the carpet and he came to a stop directly behind a lounging Louis, trying to ignore the smile that tricked up the corners of his lips at the sight. The older boy was oblivious to his arrival as the movie played on, and Harry considered saying something to let his presence be known but decided against it.   
  
Rather, with a smirk curling back the left side of his mouth, he reached forward and covered Louis’ eyes with both hands. “Guess who.”   
  
The boy jumped and then stiffened at the touch, but didn’t scream as Harry was kind of hoping he would.   
  
Hands came up and wrapped around Harry’s, yanking them away from Louis’ face as the older boy tipped his head back against the top of the couch until he could meet the curly-haired boy’s eyes. “Christ, Harry,” he muttered, hands still clutching to Harry’s, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.”   
  
“Sorry, boo,” Harry teased, unable to keep a chuckle from spilling past his lips as he ducked his head to peer straight down at Lou, their faces parallel and only a couple feet apart.   
  
Blue eyes studied Harry’s features for a minute, as though considering his presence, before Louis wondered aloud with a creased brow, “What are you even doing here?”   
  
Harry offered a shrug. “You missed me,” he added simply.   
  
Louis’ cheeks darkened with a tinge of a blush at those words, and he worried his lower lip for a moment, glancing away. “But I didn’t mean you had to drive all the way here,” he said, eyes anywhere but on Harry. “Besides, I’d see you in a few more days anyway.”   
  
“I know,” Harry replied and couldn’t help but smile at Louis’ sudden nerves. “And besides,” he lowered his voice a few notches as Lou’s eyes finally bounced back to meet his, “I missed you.”   
  
A softness settled across those seas of familiar blue, and Harry felt his chest thumping a bit faster than usual at the sight. There was something there, something swimming in those two light irises that had Harry’s palms turning sweaty and his eyes shifting away – but only for a moment, only to check and see if anyone was watching, if any of the girls were looking on with curious eyes. But those four sets of young eyes were set on the television, too engrossed in the aftermath of the Prince’s ball and the search for the girl with the matching glass slipper to pay Harry and Louis any ounce of attention.   
  
As quickly as they left, Harry’s eyes were locked back with Louis’ and the instant they reunited, Harry’s mind went blank. Completely and utterly blank, void of caution, and empty of consequences.  
  
His surroundings seemed to whisk themselves away into a blur, and the only thing Harry saw was those two blue eyes staring up at him with a trace of fondness and affection that he could have sworn hadn’t been there only several days before. It was a hint of happiness and a tinge of excitement and it had Harry’s heart thrumming so elatedly in its cavity that he barely even registered the whisper of surprise as Harry leant down and pressed his lips gently to Louis’.   
  
It was an odd angle, an upside-down kiss of sorts, as Harry was bent over Louis with noses brushing chins while lips pursed into the chaste meeting. It was just awkward and unexpected enough that it had Louis bursting into a wide grin and stupid giggles as Harry drew away, his reaction similar but much more subdued.   
  
Despite Louis’ amusement, that softness remained in those seas of blues as they peered up at the curly-haired boy. “Are you staying the night?” he asked after a beat of silence.  
  
An impish grin struck Harry’s lips, but he tamed the smile and settled for nodding. “I need more than a couple hours to catch up with my Daisy after all,” he added, finally gaining the girls’ attention.   
  
Daisy giggled and Phoebe scoffed in indignation, seeming to wake up at his words. At least, she woke up enough to scramble out of her relaxed position and climb against Louis until she was perched high enough on his shoulders and the back of the couch to meet Harry at eyelevel. She glared at him, as though to say  _and what about me?_  
  
But her façade was quickly shattered as the curly-haired boy wrapped her into a tickling hug and pulled her from the couch entirely. He buried her in his arms as she clung to him tightly and was so caught up in Phoebe’s squeals of protest that he missed how Fizz and Lottie rolled their eyes at him as they turned their attention back to the television.   
  
He also missed how Louis was staring at him the whole time with a look of unquestionable adoration and love twinkling in his bright blue eyes.   
  


**

  
  
“Mom can’t get over how you drove all the way here in the snow on our time off,” Louis stated as he strolled into his bedroom later that evening. He closed the door firmly behind him, making sure the latch caught, and turned toward Harry with a light smile. “I swear, some days I think she loves you more than she loves me.”   
  
The curly-haired boy shrugged from his position at the head of Louis’ bed, where he had taken it upon himself to get comfortable. He was reclined against the pillows, already changed into just a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants, and flipping mindlessly through the channels on the small telly that stood atop the dresser catty-corner to the bed. “It wasn’t really snowing when I left,” he replied indifferently. “Wasn’t like I drove here in a blizzard.”   
  
“Well, she seems to think you did,” Louis said and began stripping his heavy jumper and tight red cords.   
  
“Everyone turned in for the night now?” Harry wondered and failed to tear his eyes away Louis as he changed, instead letting his eyes scamper up and down the older boy’s bare frame. He watched, with interest, the muscles twitch across Louis’ back as he peeled off his trousers and stepped into a pair of plaid sleep bottoms, as his arms tightened while he picked up the discarded clothes and walked them to the hamper by his closet. Harry only forced his eyes away once Louis turned around and headed toward his bed, and it was then that he realized Louis had been speaking all along.   
  
“—but Felicite is, I don’t know, trying to copy Lottie all the time. I mean, she’s always done that, but it’s even more so now that she’s older, and it’s weird. I came home and she was wearing make-up. Not like dress up make-up either, I mean like real make-up, Harry, that she wears outside of the house. It’s just weird,” he finished with a huff of a sigh as he settled against the pillows beside Harry, sitting close without even thinking about it.   
  
“I bet,” Harry replied dryly, eyes still distracted by skin as Louis pulled the duvet up from the end of the bed.   
  
The older boy laughed, as though he knew Harry hadn’t been listening, and shook his head. “Anyway,” he said and shifted slightly until comfortable, snuggled against Harry’s side in the twin bed, “did you get all caught up with Dais?”   
  
Harry tried to ignore the heat radiating from the boy beside him, but it was more than slightly difficult as Louis slipped farther down against the pillows until he could rest his head against the younger boy’s shoulder. “Erm,” Harry steadied his voice with a clearing of his throat, “yeah… yeah, she had a lot to tell me. She and Phoebe showed me basically every gift they got for Christmas.”   
  
“I am so sorry,” Louis chuckled, head vibrating against Harry’s shoulder.   
  
“Nah,” the younger boy reasoned with a slight shrug, sure not to jostle Louis too much. “It was cute.”   
  
“Mm,” Louis hummed in agreement. “They like having you here.”   
  
“Really?” Harry couldn’t help a short laugh at that. “‘Cause I honestly couldn’t tell from that little song Phoebe made up for me earlier. I totally thought she was singing it to annoy me and get me to leave.”   
  
“Shut up, you twat, I was just saying.”   
  
“I know, I know. Just teasing.”   
  
“Jerk.”  
  
“ _Sorry._ ”   
  
They laughed themselves into a comfortable silence, settling on an episode of The Inbetweeners that was already halfway through. Though both of them had seen it enough times that it didn’t very much matter, not that either boy was paying the show much attention anyway. Louis had somehow nestled even closer to Harry, flush against his side as Harry had finally lifted an arm to wrap around the older boy’s shoulders and draw him close; Louis hadn’t hesitated to rest his head against Harry’s chest, tucked just beneath his chin. Their feet had banged together a few too many times beneath the covers that Louis had resolved to hook his ankle around Harry’s, keeping him still and gaining a playful kick in return.   
  
And Louis’ hand that had so innocently fallen against Harry’s lower stomach was making enough silent conversation to distract Harry from the show entirely. The younger boy was too invested in feeling the mindless shapes dull nails were tracing against his skin, circling his navel, making his muscles twitch just enough that he could feel Louis shake with mild amusement. A squeeze to Louis’ shoulder and the shapes transformed into mere brushes of fingertips caressing skin, mindless and swirling and so natural that Harry found himself weakening beneath the gentle touches so much so that his vision was soon behind fallen lids, until a sweet voice pulled him back into the room.   
  
“Hey, Harry?”   
  
“Mm.”  
  
“I…” Louis’ voice was so timid that Harry nearly lost it to the nagging advertisements sputtering out of the telly. “I like having you here too, y’know.”   
  
Harry could have sworn his chest  _fluttered_  at the simple statement, and he was thankful Louis couldn’t see the grin he had to bite back and swallow. “Yeah?” was all he said, rubbing the other boy’s shoulder with the question.   
  
He could feel Louis smile into his chest with his easy reply, “Yeah.”   
  
“Well, good,” Harry reasoned as he tightened his arm around Louis and pulled him even closer. “I like being here.”   
  
“Like this?” the older boy wondered, his hand momentarily stopping its motions.   
  
“Especially like this,” Harry admitted and was surprised how easily the response came. They hadn’t kissed since his arrival; they hadn’t stolen away into dark corners for impromptu snogging or snuck off to have a little fun of more exploring, of more teaching and learning and adjusting. Rather, they had simply been together the whole rest of the day – in each other’s company, blue catching green and green catching blue from time to time, sharing smiles across the room, hands brushing against the other whenever possible.   
  
It was different. It was simpler.   
  
And Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that sometimes, it was enough.   
  
It was enough to send his mind into overdrive, throw his thoughts into a spinning mess of pleasure and delight and hopeful fantasies. It was enough to make his nerves tremble with anticipation, but it was also enough to relax them with content and satisfaction and happiness. It was enough to make him happy.   
  
Heart thrumming with the thought, Harry squeezed his arm around Louis for emphasis and placed a gentle kiss to the crown of the older boy’s head.   
  
Because this? This was more than enough.


	10. We Kind of Did

Louis briefly wondered the following morning when, exactly, his mum had gotten the chance to replace his pillows, and how he hadn’t noticed the change sooner. Because this was delightful, that was all he could think as he slowly and leisurely made his way from slumber to the land of the living. His breathing took on a normal rate, slowing now only by his demand, such as when he decided to breathe in deeply, shoulders rising, arms tightening around this newer pillow he’d have to thank Mum for later, lips curling into a simple grin, and nostrils flaring ever so slightly.   
  
He held his stretch for a few seconds, just relishing in the feel of waking so casually – no alarms or bustling bandmates or incessant phone calls from Liam. Only waking in his own time, squirming almost childishly in his bed sheets, breathing in the scent of his warm pillow that smelled similar – like… like apples?   
  
His brow furrowed just slightly at the striking scent, seconds before his senses awoke even more to take into account that this pillow beneath his head was really, really warm – too warm for a pillow. And the last time he checked, pillows didn’t have heartbeats either.   
  
Louis’ eyes shot open at the unmistakable  _th-thump, th-thump_ , though he didn’t make to move away. It took several quick blinks for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight seeping into the room from the window, signaling morning. He squinted beneath the harsh light and stared confusedly at the pillow – no, the  _person_  – beneath his cheek. His thoughts hurried to string together the pieces leading up to this morning, to figure out who exactly was in his bed without ever having to physically lift his head and look. That seemed like way too much work at the moment, especially when he was this comfortable.   
  
So he instead stayed where he was, lying with his head upon someone’s chest too flat to be a girl’s, arm slung across this person’s torso that was familiarly long, and legs too intimately entangled for it to be Stan. (Though he and Stan had had their fair share of awkward hung-over mornings.)   
  
It didn’t take him long for the memories of the day before to come rushing back to him – his unsuspected visitor, his sisters’ excitement, his mother’s smiles that were too sweet even for him, that curly brown hair, the way his heart seemed to think it was more than okay to stutter, the green eyes that seemed to catch his every chance they got, the blush that warmed his cheeks one too many times, the boy waiting for him in his bed after he had tucked in the twins.   
  
The boy with that curly hair that had gained his attention on day one of boot camp and the green eyes that met him with an easy smile every day since. The boy he some days still couldn’t believe he had the luck of even knowing.   
  
And so it was with a smile tickling his lips that he shifted against the boy beneath him, dragging him impossibly closer. He breathed in deeply, the faint scent of sweet apples filling his passageways, and let out the breath in a contented sigh. Waking like this over their holiday break, after all, was one of the last things he could have ever expected. He let his thumb mindlessly caress the boy’s side and couldn’t help himself from turning and pressing a light kiss to his rising and falling chest.   
  
It was as he drew back, oh so slowly, that Harry showed his first signs of stirring. A deep breath preceded a twitching of his features, a sight that Louis found incredibly endearing.  _Endearing?_ He shook his head at the thought, tossing it toward the back; worrying about such sentiments could wait until later.   
  
“Hi,” Harry mumbled in greeting once having finally opened his eyes to the morning sunlight. His arm tightened around Louis’ shoulders in such a way that had the older boy hoping it was by choice and not just another twitch of the curly-haired boy’s body waking.   
  
Either way, Louis shrugged into the makeshift embrace and replied with a wide, closed smile. “Hi.”   
  
“Sleep well?”   
  
“Best I have in quite a few days,” Louis admitted and was surprised to find that he wasn’t even slightly embarrassed to say it.   
  
“Yeah?” Harry looked like he was trying to hide a smile, albeit with no success. As soon as he tacked on, “Me too,” his lips parted to show a toothy, almost cheesy grin.   
  
The older boy chuckled from his spot, his chin perched upon Harry’s chest. “Bit cozier than back home, isn’t it?”   
  
Harry grinned. “Just a bit,” he said and shifted on the mattress, but he only moved closer to the older boy rather than make an effort to spread out on what little space of the mattress was left.   
  
Louis bit back a laugh, though he welcomed the arm that curled even further around his shoulders, and he didn’t miss how Harry’s smile widened.   
  
“Maybe we should think about downgrading,” the curly-haired boy added.   
  
“You want to sleep on the single in the guest room?”   
  
“Not especially,” Harry replied, “but I wouldn’t mind if I were sharing it with you.”   
  
Louis held Harry’s eyes for a few seconds, managing as straight a face as he could before breaking entirely, falling to a fit of giggles as he buried his head into the younger boy’s bare chest. He wasn’t alone, he realized thankfully as he felt Harry trembling with laughter around him. “I’m sorry,” he spoke through his dying chuckles, “that’s just one of the cheesiest things I think you’ve ever said.”   
  
“Ever?” Harry countered.   
  
“Okay, not  _ever_ ,” Louis agreed, lifting his eyes. “But it’s pretty far up there, yeah?”   
  
“Yeah, I guess,” Harry assented with a shrug, “but it’s true. I mean, I wouldn’t… mind, y’know.”   
  
The older boy’s heart thumped a tad abnormally in his chest at those simple words, but he tried to ignore it with a deep breath, settling for a smile. “Neither would I,” he said. “But we’re not moving into the guest room.”   
  
Harry laughed, but his lips peeled into a smile so grand it had Louis wishing dimples didn’t exist, at least not Harry’s. “Alright, fair enough.”   
  
“I’ve nothing against you sleeping where you have been, though,” Louis said after a minute, his fingers running along Harry’s sides.   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yeah,” Louis confirmed, his gaze never leaving Harry’s. Their eyes stayed connected for a lengthy moment, a silent conversation of sorts taking place that Louis didn’t want to break with an actual word. A smile seemed the only fitting response, and so he offered one, lips closed, but a smile all the same, one that Harry reciprocated almost immediately. He was so consumed in the conversation that he hadn’t noticed exactly how close their heads had drifted, how close their faces now were, how little space remained between their lips, already parted to accommodate what was clear to follow –   
  
Until the door to the bedroom flung open, ripping into their conversation as it ricocheted against the wall.   
  
“Harry, you’re still here!” Phoebe’s voice rang into the silence, breaking the calm as she jumped up the end of the bed. “Hi!”   
  
Two sighs and one groan were the initial response, but Harry pinned on a smile. “‘Morning, Pheebs.”   
  
Louis, though, couldn’t even manage a smile as he watched his little sister clamber up between Harry and him, limbs just a bit too big for the space she was determined to occupy. “Phoebe, did Mum not teach you to knock?” he wondered, warranting a slight glare.   
  
“She did,” Phoebe responded as she settled between the two boys, though luckily on top of the blankets. “And I did, but you didn’t say anything, so I just came in, thinking that you might have died or something overnight, but you didn’t, so that’s good, but Harry’s here, and I thought he went home after I went to bed last night, but he didn’t, so that’s good, but why’s he in your bed instead of on the pullout? Did Mum forget to tell you we got a pullout? We did! It’s great for sleepovers, and for movie nights. I quite like it.”   
  
“No, Phoebe, Mum told me, Harry just –”  
  
“I fell asleep here before Louis could get it set up,” Harry supplied quickly.   
  
“And you got in bed with him?” Phoebe asked, looking at her older brother with an odd look.   
  
Louis blanched, mouthing wordlessly for a moment. “Um… yes?” he finally tried, unable to think of anything else. How could he explain that, anyway?   
  
But fortunately for him, Phoebe only nodded at the information.   
  
“Oh,” she said, frowning for only a second. “Weird. Anyway. Are you two naked?”   
  
“Phoebe!”   
  
“What!”   
  
“I can’t believe you would – ”   
  
“Well you both look it!” Phoebe cut Louis off, motioning toward their bare chests.   
  
“But we’re not  _naked_ ,” Louis emphasized, lowering his voice. “We’ve got pants on. Besides… you think I’d get into bed with Harry naked?”   
  
Phoebe giggled and shrugged at the question. “I don’t know,” she started. “Maybe. I mean you two are pretty close and people are always saying in interviews and stuff about you guys that Harry’s worst habit is getting naked and you’ve said you’ve gotten used to it and you two like each other a lot so I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”   
  
Harry snorted, but Louis only choked, gaping before coughing out in as steady a voice as he could manage, “But we don’t… you don’t just sleep, um, naked with your best mate. That’s… weird, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah,” his sister agreed with another shrug. “But you two are more than best friends.”   
  
Louis’ eyes widened and he couldn’t find the words to string together the question that his mind so desperately needed to ask, but Harry could. “And what makes you think that, Pheebs?” he asked, his voice too calm for Louis’ liking.   
  
She just shrugged again, sparing a couple glances between the boys on either side of her. “Well you are, aren’t you?” she wondered, for the first time sounding uncertain as she worried her lower lip.   
  
“Yeah,” Harry chuckled at her question and ran a hand down her dirty-blond locks, unaware of the way Louis’ chest lurched at that single, affirming word. “You’re a smart girl, Phoebe, you know that?”  
  
Every trace of uncertainty gone, Phoebe nodded eagerly, grinning. “You should see my marks from classes this year!” she said, happily following the sudden change of subject. “Daisy’s too! Mum couldn’t believe it, really, though Fizzy swears we cheated, which we  _didn’t_.”   
  
“The nerve!” Harry feigned offense, laughing as he patted Phoebe on the back, pushing her slightly forward. “Alright, well how about you go dig up some of your school stuff to show off to me while Lou and I get up and dressed to come and see it, okay?”   
  
“Okay!” Phoebe agreed with nothing more than a nod, already scrambling back to the foot of the bed. “I’ll have Daisy get some of hers, too!”   
  
“Great, we’ll see you downstairs in ten, sound good?” Harry asked, watching with amusement as the little girl almost tripped over her feet to get to the door. She turned and grinned, nodding before ducking out of the room and closing the door behind her.   
  
The younger boy relaxed back against the mattress the second the door latched shut, sighing as he let his eyes wander across the ceiling, avoiding the blue ones staring unwaveringly at him.   
  
Louis didn’t know where to start. His thoughts were running amuck and all over the single word of _yeah_. He almost wanted to smack himself for getting so worked up over something so little and insignificant,  _but it’s not insignificant_  a voice countered in the back of his mind, refusing to pass unnoticed. Harry had, after all, just basically told his sister that they were… well, more than friends. Whatever that meant.   
  
Which he was quick to ask.   
  
“What the hell did that mean!” he asked, unable to keep the panic from his voice.   
  
“Did you want me to lie to Phoebe?” Harry merely asked in return, rubbing his eyes if only to keep from meeting Louis’.   
  
“Of course not, but – ”  
  
“We are, Lou,” Harry cut him off. He rose only to rest on his elbows, finally meeting the older boy’s gaze. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but we kind of dropped the whole ‘best mates’ title a little while back.”   
  
The words struck Louis into silence, as he stayed sitting, staring, and gaping at the boy beside him, searching for something to say. His first reaction was to rebut. They were still best mates and everything, they were just…   
  
But then the low, quick beating of his heart reached his ears, reverberating there as though the raging beats of a drum. It was hard to miss, though he had been trying to ignore the peculiar palpitations every time he was in Harry’s presence. It was then that he realized how very right Harry was. The friends label had been dropped long ago, before Louis had come to terms with the fact that he was more than okay exploring this new part of him, before he came to realize how much he liked that the person he was doing all of this with was Harry, before he came to realize that he liked Harry.  
  
He liked Harry a lot, and if the excited thrumming of his heart wasn’t enough to back such a statement, then perhaps the warming of his cheeks and the smile that sparked to life across his lips was.   
  
“We kind of did,” he agreed a minute or so later, blue eyes flitting across the length of Harry’s body and up to those light green eyes that Louis wasn’t sure when he had fallen so hard for. “Didn’t we?”   
  
A smile broke Harry’s lips and he exhaled in such a way that Louis suspected he must have been holding his breath, awaiting a response. “Yeah,” he said, cheeks bunching up with his grin as Louis leaned closer. Their noses were the first to brush, nuzzling together with shared, breathy laughter before lips met in a slow, easy kiss. “We kind of did.”   
  


**

  
  
“Got you!” Phoebe screeched as a snowball caught Harry smack dab in the middle of his chest. There wasn’t much force behind the throw, but he feigned injury, clutching at the front of his coat and falling to his knees, much to the little girl’s delight. She nearly squealed and clapped her gloved hands together at the sight, giggling in victory.   
  
Her sister, however, was already at Harry’s side, her identical eyes wide with worry. “Are you alright, Harry?” she wondered, poking at his motionless shoulder. “Harry…?”   
  
The curly-haired boy didn’t move, remaining in his knelt, hunched over position on the snow-covered ground. He was still there seconds later as the backdoor of the Tomlinson house was swung open and Louis reappeared, hat, scarf, gloves, and smile properly in place. His smile fell, though, as he stopped short just a few feet from the door. “I leave you kids alone for two minutes,  _two_  minutes,” he emphasized, “and you manage to kill Harry? Okay, who did it?”   
  
Both girls pointed at each other simultaneously, though only one held a guilty, anxious smile. Louis turned toward her immediately. “Phoebe…”   
  
“It was Daisy! I told her not to!”   
  
“I’m sure you did, Pheebs. How’d it happen, anyway?”  
  
“A snowball,” Daisy answered, worrying her lower lip.   
  
“A  _really_  big one,” Phoebe added, her tone a bit too proud.  
  
“Well great, death by snowball,” Louis began and threw his arms into the air, already making the trek toward Harry and Daisy. “Now we have to deal with his body and the cops will be here as soon as they find out and I really hadn’t wanted to do anything today before tea. I guess our afternoon just got a heck of a lot busier, didn’t it, Dais?”   
  
“Guess so,” she lamented, eyes dropping toward Harry. “What do we do with him?”   
  
“Could bury him by the swing set?” Louis suggested, eyes jumping toward the rickety structure near the back of their yard. “There’s enough snow that we barely have to dig into the ground. For now, at least.”   
  
Daisy nodded, still frowning, but agreed quietly. “Okay. Who’s going to tell Mum?”   
  
“Let’s keep it hush for now.”   
  
Phoebe nodded in agreement, coming up to join the two of them, but Daisy gasped at the idea. “But won’t his mum start to worry?”   
  
Louis shrugged, making a noise of indifference. “We’ll tell her when the time’s right,” he assured her with a squeeze to the shoulder. “Best to let her get used to his absence first.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
Harry shook with a chuckle.   
  
“Yes, well!” Louis clapped his hands together, bringing all of their attention back to the curly-haired still hunched over at their feet. “I very well can’t move this dolt on my own. Who’s going to help me drag this bum over near the swings?”   
  
“I think Phoebe should have to move him on her own,” Daisy said quietly and a bit snippily, though it didn’t go unnoticed.   
  
“Should not!” Phoebe protested. “I’m not even the one who did it!”   
  
“Yes, you did! Stop lying!”   
  
“You’re the one standing right next to him!”   
  
“I came to see if he was alright after  _you_  threw that snowball at him!”   
  
“But I didn’t even throw it that hard and you’re just – ”  
  
“Ladies!” Louis interrupted, holding up a hand as though to physically halt their words. “Not that my ears weren’t enjoying your little chitchat or anything, but we really can’t just leave Harry here for all the world to see. So shall we?”   
  
“Fine,” both grumbled in agreement, huffing as they stepped behind his hunched over form to grab an ankle each once Louis dragged the boy’s upper half away. But they never got to grab hold of anything as Louis reached down for Harry’s arms, for the curly-haired boy sprang upward at the same moment. A snowball was launched from his hands, having apparently been made while he was hunched over, and it hit Louis directly in the face.   
  
The older boy sputtered at the initial contact, the cold dazing him for a few seconds before he could even think to wipe away the excess snow still clinging to his features. He blinked hard, eyes popping out from white before he smeared the rest of it away. His face was bright pink from the hit, skin seemingly as shocked as he was. “You,” he started and couldn’t help the tremble of laughter that rang through his voice, “ _ass_.”   
  
Harry was biting his lip to hold back a grin, but his dimples were shining deep with amusement, lips flat against his teeth. “That’s what you get for settling to bury me beside a fucking swing set,” he said.   
  
“Oh yeah?” Louis wondered, dropping to squat in front of Harry and already reaching to shovel up some snow in his hands.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Dais, Pheebs,” Louis said and spared both girls a quick glance. “Don’t take any of this as reason to do the same because Mum would kill me if I told you it was okay, but,” he cut himself off, raising the mound of snow he had gathered between his hands and dropping it on Harry’s head.   
  
Harry blinked in shock at first, mouth agape as the snow fell in chunks from his hair, trailing down his face and neck. “Alright,” he settled, running a gloved hand down his face before shaking the rest of the snow from his curls, “if that’s how you want to play this.”   
  
Before Louis could make an effort to move, another wad of snow was thrown at his face, though messy as it was.   
  
And that was it. The war was on.   
  
Snowballs were being flung left and right, hitting shoulders and backs and faces, sticking to curls and brown locks in icy cold chunks. They were thrown blindly at times and most were poorly rolled, losing most of their hopeful ball shape before ever even hitting their target. The girls were squealing and running about, ducking behind trees and randomly dropping to their knees to avoid being caught in the crossfire. The two even threw some ammo of their own, switching between their targets but only ever aiming at Louis and Harry.   
  
Louis was taking a breather against one of the trees, doing his best to blend in and hide behind the unfortunately skinny trunk, when disaster struck.   
  
Ice-cold water trailed down the back of his neck, chunks of snow dropping rhythmically from just inches above his head. He stayed exactly where he was, knowing any effort to get away would be futile. “Okay,” he surrendered and held up both hands, dropping the pile of snow he had been working into a small, firm ball. “I give.”   
  
The rest of the snow came anyway. “That’s no fun, Lou,” Harry said, pout evident in his tone. “You’re not supposed to give up that easily.”   
  
“Oh?”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Then c’mere!” Louis shouted and turned on the younger boy, tumbling both of them to the ground in one swift movement. They fell to the snow in a mess of limbs, Harry only slightly trying to get away. He gave in within seconds, welcoming Louis much more easily than perhaps he should have.   
  
Louis settled atop of him, legs straddling the younger boy and keeping him in place against the snow-covered ground. Similar grins came to claim their lips and their eyes locked, zoning out everything else – the flakes continuing to fall all around them, the girls still squealing and giggling and tossing snowballs halfheartedly across the yard (a couple hitting their targets, but most of them landing just off to the side), the backdoor inching open only several yards away.   
  
“How’s this?” Louis questioned, pushing Harry just a bit more into the snow. “Better?”   
  
“Nice tactic, Tomlinson,” the younger boy admitted, though a blush tinted the apples of his cheeks for reasons Louis knew were unrelated entirely.   
  
The rosiness of his skin distracted Louis’ eyes for a second too long, and the rest was history. The beating of his heart was all he could hear, drowning out even the laughter and enjoyment of his sisters still running about the backyard and the call of his mother from the doorstep. Everything around him was lost as he leaned down, inch by inch, eyes seeing nothing but the curly-haired boy beneath him, senses unaware of anything and everything else.   
  
And as their lips finally met, he was blissfully lost in his own world where Harry was the only other one currently welcome. Their lips molded together in the cold, breaths hot and inviting against the other’s cheeks.   
  
Harry shivered against him as Louis mistakenly brought one gloved hand up to rest along the side of the younger boy’s head, snow still matted to the material. He actually squeaked into the kiss at the touch, eliciting a light giggle from Louis that vibrated between their lips.   
  
“Shut up, it was cold,” Harry said, lips still touching Louis’.   
  
“What a wimp,” Louis teased.   
  
And it was then that his ears perked at the sounds around him, noticing that Daisy and Phoebe’s squeals had turned toward them, just in time to hear –   
  
“What’s all the noise out here – oh, my lord!” Jay shouted, and Louis turned just fast enough to see her fling a hand over her mouth, but he didn’t miss the smile she was trying to hide. It lit up to her eyes. “Boys!” she hissed after a moment, as though coming to her senses, “not in front of the girls!”   
  
She called Daisy and Phoebe inside, though not after the two of them had gotten out their fair share of “ _ewwww_ ”s and gagging noises. (More so from Phoebe, of course; Daisy was too busy fighting back her giggles.) Jay spared the two boys another glance after the twins were herded into the house, smiling brightly before ducking back inside and closing the door quietly behind her.   
  
And then they were left to silence. No more snowballs were flying overhead, no more squeals and girlish giggles echoing throughout the backyard. They were just there, just the two of them, lying together in the snow while big, fluffy white flakes fell all around them. It was somehow surreal, somehow frightening, and somehow perfect.   
  
“I think,” Harry chuckled after a minute had passed by unused, “that we kind of just got caught by your mum.”   
  
“Yeah,” Louis agreed gently as he turned his attention back to the boy beneath him. Harry was staring up at him, his green eyes even lighter in the overcast of the snowy day, and smiling. It was a simple smile, closed-lipped and not too wide. Louis couldn’t help to mirror it, though his broke to reveal his teeth and a light, breathy chuckle. “I think we kind of did.”


	11. More Than Whatever

“Okay, four marshmallows each, but no more!” Jay was saying as she scooped some of the fluffy white goodies into three mugs of hot cocoa for the girls. None for Lottie though because, “Hot cocoa’s for little  _girls_ , Mum.”   
  
Jay was busy yanking a spare marshmallow from Phoebe’s sneaky fingers as Harry and Louis slipped in through the backdoor, their eyes skittish and their cheeks dark shades of pinks and reds.   
  
“C’mon,” Louis whispered none too quietly with a tug of Harry’s hand. “Quick!”   
  
Harry bit his lip and ducked his head slightly, as though such an action and a hunching of the shoulders would allow him to pass through the kitchen unnoticed. But the two had barely made it eight shuffled steps into the room when a voice spoke up behind them.   
  
“Oi, you two!” Jay called out, freezing both boys in their steps. “Don’t think you can just waltz on through here like that.”   
  
“ _Mum_ , please,” Louis nearly begged as he turned to face his mother.   
  
But Jay only lifted a brow, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Just a word, Lou.”   
  
Louis’ shoulders sagged in defeat, and Harry had to hold back a chuckle at the dramatic sight. But he squeezed Louis’ hand that was still wrapped around his own and sent him a light smile.  _Go on_ , he urged with a jerk of the head, much to the older boy’s dismay.   
  
A smile then struck Louis’ lips with a hint of mischief. “Can Harry stay for this word?” he wondered, grinning as Harry shot him a look.   
  
“Actually, you know, I’d prefer if you would stay, Harry,” Jay answered only after she had ushered all of the girls out of the kitchen and toward the living room and pulled the door behind them.   
  
Harry blanched at the request. Not that he was that worried or anything, but, well, Jay had just caught them in a lip lock, after all. He had a right to be semi-nervous, didn’t he?   
  
“Oh, Harry,” she laughed and motioned toward the empty chairs at the table. “Don’t look so scared, sweetheart. It’s just a little chat.”   
  
“Easy for you to say,” Louis said almost too quietly. Though judging from the look that Jay shot her son, she had most definitely heard it.   
  
Harry could only think to tighten his grip on Louis’ hand once more, as they sat down beside each other.   
  
“So,” Jay spoke up with a clearing of her throat. She stayed leaning against the kitchen counter, her arms folded neatly across her chest. “Would anyone care to clue me in a bit as to when you two became an item?”   
  
“Mum!”   
  
“What would you prefer I call it, Louis?” she shot back, but her lips were already curled into a pleased, albeit teasing, smile. “A relationship? Shall I call you two boyfriends now?”   
  
“Mum.”   
  
“Well pardon me for being a bit curious, Louis,” Jay continued. Her smile faded just slightly as she met Louis’ eyes. “Because last I was aware, my son was still dating a girl named Eleanor. In fact, if I recall, he just told me a few nights ago at dinner that his girlfriend was doing just fine.”   
  
Louis’ cheeks were burning a bright red, and Harry grabbed his knee beneath the table, squeezing once.   
  
“So could I please get some sort of explanation, please? I mean should I be calling up Anne or just be prepared to see you bringing home a guy at Easter now too, or is this just a… a fling?” she wondered, pinching the bridge of her nose and grimacing at her own words. “I don’t mean that to sound crude, Louis, I would just appreciate it if you’d keep me up to date on your life from time to time. It’s hard enough as it is.”   
  
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Louis finally conceded, whatever fight he had balled up in him easing away with a sigh. His cheeks lightened with the passing seconds of silence, but pink still clung to the skin. And when he grabbed hold of Harry’s hand that was still resting on his thigh, his palm was slick with a nervous sweat.   
  
“I-I don’t know where to start, really,” he continued with a breathy chuckle.   
  
“Maybe start with Eleanor?” Harry suggested quietly, his words mumbled and so quiet that he knew Jay wouldn’t able to hear them across the kitchen.   
  
Louis nodded, drawing in a deep breath. “Right, well, I’m no longer seeing Eleanor, not as a girlfriend, anyway,” he blurted out, words jumbling together almost too quickly.   
  
But his mother nodded as she took them in. “Does she know about…” she wondered with a wave of her hand toward both Louis and Harry.   
  
“Mum, we weren’t – we’re not, I mean, Eleanor and I broke things off before Harry and I even, but oh my god, not like that, I mean, we’re not – ”   
  
“He means no,” Harry interjected, unabashed laughter trickling through his lips as he weaved his fingers with Louis’ beneath the table.   
  
Jay couldn’t help a smile at that as she crossed over to the table and slid into a chair across from the boys. Louis’ cheeks were ridiculously red at that point, though, and the looks he kept sparing toward Harry? Well, it was a wonder the curly-haired boy wasn’t fighting off waves of scarlet too. In fact, he looked much more comfortable talking about all of this than Louis did, which led Jay to question, “Is there even anything really going on  _for_  her to know about?”   
  
Harry finally bit his lip and ducked his head, the first blush of the day at last blossoming across his cheeks and fanning all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Erm,” he started and let out an uncertain chuckle, scratching the back of his head.   
  
He didn’t know how to answer that.   
  
He knew what his initial response was. He knew what he wanted to say. He knew what maybe he should say. But Louis was seated beside him with a broken smile resting upon his lips and cheeks too dark and hands too shaky and sweaty.   
  
So he sent Louis a reassuring smile and gave the only answer he could at the time, “Maybe.”  
  


**

  
  
“I think I may have just come out to my mother,” Louis announced later that evening, coming into his bedroom with a breathless sort of smile. He stayed near the door at first, leaning against it, his eyes lost on everything and nothing all at once.   
  
“And was it as horrid as you were making it out to be?” Harry asked, grinning from his spot on Louis’ bed.   
  
“Terrifying,” Louis admitted, his eyes wide. They were shining with something like fright and relief. “I think I nearly shat myself.”   
  
“Nearly?”   
  
“Oh shut it,” Lou scoffed, pursing his lips. “You know what I mean.”   
  
“Do I?”   
  
“Oh leave me alone, it’s not my fault I can’t think straight at the moment.”   
  
“Think straight? ‘Course not.” Harry chuckled and had to bite his lip to hold in the laughter just waiting to bubble out. What a thing to say just after coming out to one’s mother, after all. Louis caught on after a second though, his eyes narrowing into a glare as he mock-laughed at the younger boy.   
  
“Oh, ha-ha, Harry, you’re so funny,” he sneered, shaking his head from his spot, still rooted by the door. His laughter leveled out within a few seconds, silence overcoming, as he got lost in his thoughts once more. He shook his head again after a long moment, finally lifting his gaze to Harry. “Christ, I can’t believe I just did that.”   
  
“But you did,” Harry said, unnecessarily but still proud all the same.   
  
“I did,” Louis echoed.   
  
“And Jay is… Things are okay?” the younger of the two wondered. It took nearly all of his self-control not to just pounce on the older boy and ask for every detail. But Louis probably needed some time to let things settle in, he reasoned, staying at the bed, waiting.   
  
And Louis slowly came undone, back down to earth, to reality, with every passing minute. He nodded this time, holding back a smile that might have been too large. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s okay. She’s… she said something like this could never change how she feels about me. But to be fair,” he tore off into a slight laugh, “she did have a while to think things through, yeah? I think we kind of already softened the blow earlier today.”   
  
“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “I think it was a good sign when she didn’t freak out over that kiss, huh?”   
  
“Eh, yeah,” Louis grimaced and finally laughed while making his way to join Harry on his bed. He sat on the edge, just turning enough to face the younger boy. “But she said she kind of always had her suspicions. Mother’s intuition or something like that.”   
  
Harry cocked a brow. “Intuition?”   
  
“That,” Louis said and shifted his eyes away with a slight blush, “and apparently Danny from year 7’s mother told him about that kiss all those years ago. Mum just never thought to talk to me about it.”   
  
“Probably didn’t want to freak you out.”   
  
“Probably,” Louis shrugged. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and then falling with the action, before bringing his gaze back to Harry. He smiled and nudged Harry’s knee with his elbow. “Hey, what’re you doing up here anyway? Didn’t want to be downstairs with the girls to celebrate?”   
  
Now it was Harry’s turn to shrug, and he did with a slight shake of the head. “Still got a bit till midnight,” he replied, dropping his voice considerably and shifting his eyes away from Louis altogether. “I just… they were getting kind of loud and I, erm, wanted to wait for you. While you were talking to Jay, I mean, to hear how it went.”   
  
“Were you,” Louis very nearly whispered, a knowing smile gliding across his lips, “ _nervous_  for me, Harry?”   
  
The curly-haired boy crossed his arms against his chest, his eyes still averted. “I wouldn’t exactly say nervous.”   
  
“You were! You so were!” Louis gaped and grinned, playfully shoving at Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, Hazza, that’s so cute.”   
  
“Shut up, Lou,” Harry practically muttered, though without much vigor and still looking away. His cheeks were fully consumed in red.   
  
“But hey, I’m serious,” the older boy stated in a tone much gentler. He reached forward a tentative hand to cup Harry’s chin, turning his head until their gazes were forced to meet. He smiled. “That  _is_ sweet, Harry. Really.”   
  
Harry managed a modest shrug, biting back a smile. “I just thought if something went wrong or she flipped or something, you’d wanna come back here to talk. Or something.” His brow furrowed in confusion at his own words and if it wouldn’t have made matters worse, he might have slapped himself for being so awkward. But he only grimaced instead, shaking his head. “So anyway, it went alright?”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, more than alright, actually,” Louis nodded, and the smile that stretched across his every feature was too wide and exuberant to be pretense.   
  
A grin sparked across Harry’s lips as well, and he sat up a bit straighter, leaning away from the pillows. “Well good,” he said, his hand unconsciously finding Louis’. “I’m glad.”   
  
“Me too.” Louis grinned and stood from the bed, yanking Harry along with him in one swift movement. “Now c’mon, Harry-bear, clock’s going to strike midnight and if you’re not downstairs when it does, this bed might just turn back into a pumpkin.”   
  
Harry didn’t complain as he followed Louis along, out of the room and down the stairs to rejoin the rest of the Tomlinson family. But it sure did take a lot not to just slam his lips against Lou’s right in front of everybody, especially as their hands stayed interlocked the whole time, all the way through to the new year.   
  


**

  
  
“C’mon,” Louis whispered with a chuckle, snatching Harry’s hand and tugging him upstairs again. Harry was being tugged all over the place it seemed, but he really couldn’t find it in him to complain. Actually, he rather quite liked it.   
  
He didn’t say anything as he followed after the older boy, stepping lightly across the floors to not make too much noise.   
  
The lights were out in the Tomlinson household. The clock had just passed half three. The television was still flickering in the living room, though the volume had been lowered to a point where none of the words were really even decipherable. Dirty plates and bags of biscuits and crisps still littered the coffee table and the end tables, but the mess could wait until the morning. Jay and the girls were sprawled across every piece of the furniture and the floor, blankets and pillows strewn across bodies worn from celebration.   
  
Normally, Louis would have stayed among them, passed out against the couch but trying to fight it until he couldn’t any longer. But Louis didn’t normally have Harry at his house, sitting too close beside him all evening long, with curls too stupidly pretty and a grin too stupidly wide.   
  
So it was with Harry’s laughter still echoing in his ears and his body still warm from the younger boy nearly sitting on him for the past few hours that Louis yanked him along, back to his room, where he promptly shoved him against the closed door.   
  
“ _Christ_ , Lou,” Harry managed to breathe out between kisses, nearly gasping, though a smile curled his lips. “I thought we were coming up here to sleep.”   
  
Lips pressed against his too quickly for any more words to escape or for an answer to be given. He didn’t mind.   
  
“Why?” Louis spoke minutes later, his fingers fanning across Harry’s sides as he pulled just far enough away to meet the younger boy’s eyes. They glinted in the moonlight that snaked in through the window. “Are you tired?”   
  
“I,” he started but quickly stopped, his thoughts rushing and spinning as Louis rolled his hips against his.  _Fuck._ “Erm, I was.”   
  
“Was,” Louis echoed, chuckling. “And now?”  
  
“Fuck, Lou,” was all Harry said, before dragging Louis back toward him by a fistful of the chest of his shirt. Their lips crashed back together in a sound kiss, and any exhaustion Harry had felt crawling upon him was quickly forgotten.   
  
Harry reveled as the kiss deepened, drawing Louis impossibly closer with hands that under normal circumstances might have seemed too desperate. But it was late and it was New Year’s and alcohol was still buzzing in his system and  _fuck_ , this was Louis.   
  
Louis, who couldn’t seem to let go of his hand all fucking night, no matter how many questioning glances Lottie sent their way. Louis, who only grinned when Jay sent him a knowing look. Louis, who kept scooting closer beside him in the loveseat even when there was really no more space to do so. But Louis tried, and he tried, and his hands kept finding their way to brush against Harry, his fingers ways to fix Harry’s hair, his arms to wrap around his shoulders. He knew Louis got touchy and affectionate when he was drunk, but this…   
  
This was different. This wasn’t Louis’ drunken fumbling, and he wasn’t even that drunk. A bit tipsy maybe, just enough that Harry could still taste the champagne on his tongue and smell it with all of the little breaths puffing out against his cheek.   
  
And it was intoxicating in a way that Harry didn’t expect it to be, didn’t know it could be. Louis was warm and inviting and smelled of champagne and something musky, and every time their lips drew away just to meet again, he didn’t know how much he wanted this. How much he wanted Louis.   
  
He really wanted Louis, in more ways than perhaps he truly wanted to admit. But did Louis? Was Louis still simply floating along, treating this all as something imaginative? Some trial run and nothing more?   
  
But he had admitted that they had passed the “friends” territory; he had admitted that they were past that. But where exactly that left them, Harry hadn’t a clue.   
  
Not that he really minded all that much. He never was one for labeling things too neatly, and yet his curious, thrumming heart seemed to beat his protective mind that night, urging him to break his lips away from Louis’ to question: “Lou, what are we doing?”   
  
“Snogging,” Louis mumbled against the corner of Harry’s mouth.   
  
If Harry weren’t experiencing such an internal freak out, he might have laughed. But not tonight. Tonight he only repeated himself, taking on a more serious, yet desperate, tone. “Lou, don’t. I just… What are we even doing?”   
  
Louis stiffened in his arms, and a moment passed before he pulled far enough away to meet Harry’s eyes. He looked surprisingly awake and sober for the early hour of the morning. Serious, even. “What do you mean?”   
  
“I mean  _this_ ,” Harry urged, shifting his eyes between them for clarification.   
  
It wasn’t much, especially not in the darkness of the room, but Louis seemed to understand. “Oh.”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Um,” Louis began and glanced away. He licked his lips, uncurling himself from the younger boy. Harry didn’t like the gap, but he let Louis pull away until so much space stood between them that another whole body could occupy it.   
  
The older boy cleared his throat, his eyes set on Harry’s socked feet as he rolled his lips together in consideration. “I thought,” he finally concluded after a minute, “that we were, I mean, that you were helping me to… you know.”   
  
And Harry might have nodded and wrote off his questions and pulled Louis back in by the chest of his shirt for another rough kiss. He might have been done with it, and maybe he should have been. But he instead found himself asking aloud, “Yeah, but what are we?”   
  
Lou snorted. “What an existential question, Haz.”  
  
“Louis…”  
  
“Look, Harry,” Louis started, snapping his head upward and holding up both of his hands. “I’ve had enough of these conversations today, I really have, and I’d really appreciate it if we could just leave this one for another day.” He said it all in one breath and met Harry’s eyes again only after exhaling a sigh of frustrated nerves. “Please?”   
  
Harry didn’t say anything at first, just stepped forward to close the distance between them and smoothed his hands up Louis’ arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to the bridge of the older boy’s nose. “It’s just a question, babe,” he said, his voice soft against the silence.   
  
Louis seemed to relax beneath Harry’s touches, nodding at his words. “I know. It’s just we’re…” He stumbled across his words at first and looked away. “I don’t know, Haz. It’s like you’ve said before. It’s whatever.”   
  
“Still?” Harry wondered and ran his hands back down Louis’ arms until he came to his wrists. He lifted just enough so he could place his palms flat against Lou’s and lock their fingers together.   
  
“Still what?”  
  
A smile pulled at Harry’s lips, but he tried to suppress it as he let his forehead rest against Louis’. “Are we still  _just_  whatever?”   
  
The older boy breathed out again, but this time a smile slid across his features as he inhaled. “You know,” he said and pressed his palms more firmly against Harry’s, squeezing tightly, reassuringly, “I think we might be a bit more than whatever.”   
  
“More than whatever,” Harry echoed, though it sounded like a question breathed against Louis’ nose.   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Dimples shone along Harry’s cheeks and a grin stole his features as he took a couple steps forward, Louis taking a couple back. “You know,” he said as he placed a kiss to Louis’ lips, their hands still pressed together. “I like more than whatever.”   
  
“Yeah?” Louis asked, his knees bumping into the end of the bed. He leaned forward with a chuckle, his lips meeting Harry’s once more.   
  
Harry grinned into the kiss. “Yeah.”   
  
More than whatever. Harry could deal with that.


	12. Maybe This is Big

Louis woke the following morning much like he had the past few days – warm body curled almost protectively around him, an arm slung snug across his waist. His eyes fluttered open to a dreary sort of light peeking through the window, grey slitting through the blinds in a miserably cold overcast. He almost shivered at the mere look, but only almost. For little huffs of warm air kept hitting low on his neck, right between his shoulders, warm enough to make his stomach clench and keep him from shivering at the thought of the cold awaiting them.   
  
His mind wandered far from the prospect of the temperature outdoors though, getting lost on a tangent of early morning musing. He was so far inside himself that he barely noticed when the arm draped across his middle tightened in a squeeze of greeting, or the lips that brushed at the nape of his neck so lightly he almost thought it were just his imagination.   
  
But then fingers curled against his bare abdomen and curls tickled at the tops of his shoulders, just as lips began to leave lazy, open-mouthed kisses along his blades. His cheeks warmed as he slid back into reality, and he laughed breathlessly, despite himself.   
  
“Morning, Harry,” he murmured, fingers finding those still curled against his tummy.   
  
“Mm,” Harry hummed in agreement behind him and nuzzled into the dip between Louis’ shoulders. “Good morning.”   
  
Louis laughed as Harry made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, all the while cuddling closer. “Having fun back there, Haz?”  
  
“You’re warm,” Harry explained simply, seeming to burrow his way impossibly closer until he was flush against Louis’ back with their legs slotted together beneath the blankets. “Like… a toasty warm. Comfy. Don’t wanna move.”   
  
But doors were opening out in the hall, and footsteps were pattering all over the house, and both of them knew their morning was bound to start sooner rather than later and moving would be inevitable. A sigh followed Louis’ breath, and he tugged Harry back down by the wrist as the younger boy had started to untangle them and get on the move.   
  
“Don’t,” he said to Harry’s creased brow. “Can we just… Stay. Just for a little while?”   
  
Harry’s brow was still furrowed as he settled back into the bed, mattress dipping beneath his weight. But, “Yeah,” he said and wrapped himself back around Louis, this time facing him. He caught Lou’s eyes. “You alright?”   
  
Louis smiled, and it was relaxed as he let his fingers fan across the side of Harry’s ribs. “Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “I just… We go back tomorrow. With the lads, I mean. And I love them and all, but I…”  
  
Harry seemed to understand, though, his hand that had settled over Louis’ hip squeezing once in comfort, perhaps holding on for a bit longer than necessary. “I get it.”   
  
“Thanks,” Louis murmured, and Harry only hummed his sentiments as he scooted closer until their noses bumped and their heads were aligned on the single pillow. His eyes fluttered shut again, but Louis kept his open – watching as the younger boy’s features relaxed in the passing minutes, observing as his eyes ran with sleep, admiring, savoring.   
  
Savoring. That’s what he was really doing, what he was meaning to do all along. He just wanted to savor the simplicity of this – whatever this really was – for a little bit longer before heading back to the real world, back to reality, where they’re two parts of a boy band with screaming fangirls and paparazzi and stalkers.   
  
He wanted to hold onto this for a little while more before heading back to that life, where they were constantly being shipped from city to city, country to country, one hotel to the next, constantly being told what to do, what to say, how to act. He knew it was part of the job, part of the life he accepted, but he was twenty for god’s sake. Didn’t that warrant him some control over his own life, some right to call the shots? He could do that here, back in Doncaster, away from the public, alone with Harry. He had some control over his life here, some space to be who he truly was, to say what he wanted, to do whatever he wanted to do. He liked it.   
  
Of course he liked it, but he knew all the same that he couldn’t very well do whatever he pleased in that reality, not with cameras flashing and capturing their every move when not behind closed doors. He was tired of bloody doors.   
  
He didn’t want to go back there just yet, to that life where he was straight (Louis cringed at the label as it passed his thoughts – not because it felt wrong, it didn’t, but because he couldn’t remember when, exactly, he had decided it just wasn’t  _him_.) He didn’t want to return to that world where he was still dating Eleanor. He loved her and adored her to pieces, but not in the way that the rest of the world still believed he did. He didn’t like lying, he didn’t mean to, but that’s how life was back there, back in the bustling world of fame.   
  
And Louis wanted to avoid that seemingly fictional world for just a while longer, if not only to avoid the countless interviews until necessary. Especially those interviews where he was asked over and over again what qualities he looked for in a girl.   
  
He wondered, mindlessly as he let his fingers brush along the length of Harry’s arm, tracing his veins, if an interviewer would ever ask him what he looked for in a guy.   
  
His hand stilled at Harry’s wrist, fingers loosely encircling at just the base of the younger boy’s curled hand. His eyes scampered across Harry’s body beside his own, watching on with something akin to awe.   
  
He then wondered if an interviewer would ever have to; maybe not if Harry were still sitting by his side.   
  
But Louis shoved those trivial thoughts of the future away as Harry began to stir sometime later. The chatter of the Tomlinson household had since ventured off, downstairs he assumed, and he was thankful that no one had come barging into his little haven that morning, not even the twins.   
  
“Did I fall back to sleep?” Harry mumbled, stretching and blinking at Lou with bleary, sheepish eyes.   
  
Louis only smiled and pressed a kiss to the corner of Harry’s jaw. “Is it weird I don’t wanna go back tomorrow?” he couldn’t help but question.   
  
Still waking back up to the world, Harry’s brow furrowed at first before remembering their little snippet of conversation from before. He shook his head, shifting against the mattress and hooking his foot around Louis’. “No,” he answered softly, voice still tired.   
  
“But I usually love going back,” the older boy continued, frowning at himself. “And this is for  _our_  tour, shouldn’t I be pissing myself in excitement or something? I mean this is  _big_.”   
  
Harry’s eyes dropped a shifty look between them at those words in a way that Louis didn’t know how to take. Green jumped between them, implying, and when Harry looked back up, a broken, albeit hopeful, sort of smile tarnished his lips. “So are other things,” he murmured gently, and it had Louis’ stomach dropping.   
  
Harry looked to say something more but quickly slapped on an easier smile, one that didn’t quite dimple his cheeks and certainly didn’t even make it close to reaching his eyes. A smile Louis knew to be fake, forced. “Maybe the excitement will just set in tomorrow, yeah?” he tried. “Maybe it just hasn’t hit us yet.”   
  
Louis’ eyes narrowed, searching for that broken smile, but he couldn’t find a trace of it as the seconds lapsed into a minute. His heart was still racing in his chest, trembling in its cavity, but he ignored it, ignored Harry’s murmured statement, and left it sitting in the back of his mind for a later time. He swallowed the beating of his heart back down as far as it would go, smiled, and nodded slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly. “Maybe tomorrow.”   
  


**

  
  
It was early afternoon by the time Harry and Louis bothered to start getting ready for the day. They were only coaxed out of bed right before noon by an eager Daisy and the promise of waffles and eggs and sausage awaiting them, though even then they had been unenthusiastic to leave the comfort of Louis’ bedroom. But they knew they’d have to at some point, and the prospect of wasting their last day of vacation with the rank taste of champagne and fondue still lingering in their mouths was anything but desirable.   
  
Louis slipped into a pair of sweats after his shower and pulled on a t-shirt he picked up from the ground. It was big (it was Harry’s) and wrinkled (thrown off and forgotten the night before), but he really didn’t mind (he liked it). A shirt was a shirt, anyhow, and it’s not like he had any plans to even leave the house that day. (Though really, the smell on the shirt was so strong and so distinctly Harry that Louis couldn’t seem to bother with switching it out for one of his own, dull, striped tees.)   
  
He was scrolling through his Twitter feed on his mobile when Harry sauntered back through the bedroom door not twenty minutes later. His curls were wet and dripping, and he held the towel low around his hips with a knot of it bundled in his fist. Padding in and closing the door behind him, he greeted Louis with an easy, dimpled smile. “Hey.”   
  
“Hi.” Louis tossed his phone farther up his bed, sitting up. His cheeks darkened a bit as he took note of Harry’s current state, towel just barely covering what needed to be covered to walk around the house.   
  
Harry smirked before turning away, shuffling through his suitcase for some clothes. “Figure out if we’re doing anything today?”   
  
“Mm, not really. Stan might stop by later, but other than that…”  
  
“We’ve got the day free?” Harry glanced over his shoulder, smirk still denting the side of his lips.   
  
“Guess so.”   
  
“Brilliant,” Harry settled and straightened, leaving behind his clothes and suitcase altogether. “No rush for these then.”   
  
“Hey, hey, hey, just because we’re staying in doesn’t mean you can walk around my house naked, Styles,” Louis quipped. “I won’t let you scar my sisters for life. Again.”   
  
“I didn’t  _scar_  them!” Harry insisted with wide eyes. “And that was purely on accident, we’ve gone over this.”   
  
Louis just spared a shrug as the younger boy came to stand before him, towel looser than before. He looked up, pointedly, eyes meeting Harry’s as he leveled his voice. “It’s really a miracle my mum even lets you come back here, to be honest.”   
  
“Good thing she loves me then, huh?”   
  
“I suppose,” he agreed with a sigh, slumping back on his bed. “She’s the one who wanted you to come visit over our break anyway. Even talked about kidnapping you, no matter how many times I told her that you needed to visit with your own family, let alone care whether I wanted you here or not. Oh the things I put up with to please my mother, I mean really it’s getting a bit out of hand.”   
  
“You talk a lot.”   
  
Louis raised only his head to look at Harry.   
  
The towel had been shed entirely, and he sent the younger boy a glare. “What did I say about walking around my house naked?”   
  
“I’m not walking around your house naked,” Harry pointed out and walked to the very edge of the bed, his legs falling into place against the mattress on either side of Louis’. A smirk trickled across his lips again. “I’m just walking around your  _room_. Naked. And tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you mind it that much.”   
  
Before Louis could even respond, Harry’s knees were buckling down beside his thighs, and the younger boy slipped down to crouch over Louis, arms caging him in.   
  
“And if I do?” Louis wondered, his heart thumping a bit faster in his chest than strictly necessary. But Harry was hovering over him, his curls still wet and his entire body bare and his lips curled into something of an impish smile.   
  
“You don’t.”   
  
“Well someone’s a bit full of himself.” Louis nearly sang, to which Harry laughed and nosed his way along the older boy’s cheek and into the hair just above his ear, muttering a weak, “Shut up.”   
  
He traced the shell of Louis’ ear with a line of light kisses, just lips brushing skin in a touch that was barely even there. But it had the older boy biting his lip and gripping onto Harry’s sides all the same.   
  
Harry grinned against the side of Louis’ neck before latching on at that stretch of skin between his neck and shoulder, nipping, licking, and sucking in such a way that would surely leave a little mark, until Louis shoved at his shoulders with a chuckle.   
  
“C’mon, Haz, you don’t need to make it so obvious.”   
  
The younger boy huffed out in indignation but kissed his way to the front of Louis’ neck, up his throat, until he could join their lips in a proper kiss. “Maybe I want to,” he added after a moment.   
  
“Yeah, well you’re not the one who’s going to have to hide it from your mother later, are you?” Louis said between a few more chaste kisses and a bubbling bout of laughter.   
  
“But she already knows,” Harry reminded him before tugging at his lower lip.   
  
“Oh,” Louis remembered with a hard blink, stilling as Harry went in to kiss him again. But he remained so motionless beneath the other boy that Harry pulled away with a lifted brow. “She knows. I… told her, didn’t I? I…”   
  
“Forgot.” Harry chuckled and ran a hand through Louis’ loose fringe. “You’re cute.”   
  
Louis pursed his lips at that, choking back a breathy laugh as he grabbed Harry and switched their positions as swiftly as he could. “Shut up, guinea pig,” he murmured before leaning down to capture Harry’s mouth with his own, teeth clacking embarrassingly through both their laughter.   
  
He grinned as they eased their way into some long, languid kisses, hands moving slowly against each other as tongues tentatively explored. Lips parted as Louis made his way down toward Harry’s ears, something he quite enjoyed doing since no one else was ever really granted permission to even  _see_  his ears. He smiled at the thought and nosed his way behind Harry’s right ear to press a gentle kiss to the patch of skin behind it, just beneath his hairline, and –   
  
“Did you use Fizz’s watermelon-scented shampoo?”   
  
Louis jerked far enough away to meet Harry’s eyes.   
  
The younger boy flushed. “Maybe.”   
  
Snorting, Louis resumed his previous actions, lips pursing just behind Harry’s ear to whisper, “You’re such a dork.”   
  
Harry pinched Louis’ side, the older boy squeaked in surprise, and the two found themselves curling back together just moments later, lips trailing across skin and savoring their time alone before joining the rest of the Tomlinsons for the day, before returning back to the rest of the lads, before returning back to reality. Everything was still so new to them. Louis was still adjusting to this, to Harry, to… everything, really. But he was enjoying it, more than he had thought he would – more than he thought he  _could_.   
  
He wondered, fleetingly, if he would be enjoying it so much if he weren’t doing all of this with Harry.   
  
He had half a mind to think not, but he was more than a little distracted as a hand snuck beneath the elastic of his trackies to grab at his arse. He twitched beneath the touch and rolled his hips down against Harry’s in something like sweet revenge, especially upon finding the younger boy already hardening between them. A groan swelled in Harry’s throat as Louis repeated the action, and Harry bucked upward once, pulling Louis down with him after.   
  
Louis was just resituating to slip a hand down between them when –   
  
“ALRIGHT, TIME TO GOOF OFF WITH YOUR FAVORITE PEASANT BEFORE RETURNING TO THE HIGH-LIFE, QUEEN LOUIS, SO GET UP OFF YOUR FANCY SPARKLING ARSE AND LET’S –  _Holy shit_.”   
  
The door to Louis’ bedroom crashed open and ricocheted off the wall, making both boys on the bed jump and break apart in time to find Stan stopped just a couple steps into the room.   
  
His eyes were as wide as half-dollars.   
  
“Christ on a cracker. Jesus,” he continued, alarmed. “Harry. Hi. Shit. Didn’t know you were visiting, or that you were… Or Lou. Or. Wow. Okay. Oh god. And you’re naked.  _Hello_.”   
  
His eyes widened as he took in the full scene, his gaze jumping from Harry to Louis to the towel on the floor, and back again. A furious blush darkened his cheeks with understanding.   
  
“I should… Yeah, I probably should’ve left like two minutes ago, um, yeah, I’ll be… going, now, yeah, bye, have fun on tour, um, use a condom? Shit. I…  _Shit_. Bye.”   
  
And with that he was off, slamming the door behind him.   
  
“Fuck,” Louis cursed under his breath and was already scrambling off of Harry and his bed and adjusting his outfit on his way to the door. He only glanced at Harry once before leaving, huffing in exasperation, “Put on some clothes and take care of  _that_ , Harry.”   
  
Stan was already partway down the block when Louis caught up to him, still trying to pull on his coat as he jogged after his friend. “Stan!” he called, a cloud of his breath visible around him.   
  
Stan only stopped when Louis yanked on his arm to turn him around.   
  
He didn’t meet Louis’ eyes.   
  
“Stan…”  
  
“So you and Harry, huh?” He laughed, but it came out cynical. Strained.   
  
“I… guess,” Louis replied, smiling uncertainly. “He’s just… We’re not really, I mean, he’s just helping me try to, y’know, figure things out?”   
  
Stan looked up this time, cocking a brow. “Helping you out?”   
  
Louis nodded, finally breathing out because his friend at least  _looked_  at him. “Since I can’t, like, just experiment out in the open without causing a mass riot or something,” he explained, blushing through every word. Testing things out didn’t seem so weird anymore, but talking about it aloud was just… really quite odd.   
  
“So you’re not sure if you’re actually…?”   
  
“No, I am,” Louis settled, firmly. Confident. His heart sped up with the admission. “I am.”  
  
But Stan still looked… miffed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   
  
“I… I just wasn’t sure for a long while?” Louis grimaced and scratched the back of his head nervously, glancing away. “But it’s like I kinda knew for a long time, y’know, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself? I mean, I don’t know. I’ve just been… I just told my mum yesterday.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yeah.” Louis nodded again, stuffing his hands into his coat’s pockets. “She’s… It could’ve been because it was New Year’s, but she was oddly happy about it.”   
  
“Probably cos she’s been planning your- and- Harry’s wedding since X Factor,” Stan smirked. “Think she’s been in love with the idea of you two for ages now.”   
  
Louis tried to calm his blush, ducking his head as he chuckled. “Maybe that’s why.”   
  
“Maybe.” Stan looked away again, looking a bit uncomfortable as he toed the ground in a nervous habit. “You know,” he spoke up softly a moment later, “you could’ve told me. I wouldn’t have, like, burned you for it or shit.”   
  
“Yeah?” Louis glanced upward, hopeful.   
  
“Yeah, ‘course, Lou, you’re my best mate,” Stan nodded once with a touch of a smile finally gracing his lips. “Besides, what gets you off isn’t really any of my business, is it?”   
  
“Luckily not.”   
  
“Right. Especially if it involves Harry.” His friend laughed, this time warm and sounding much more like normal as he slung his arm around Louis’ shoulders and turned them in the direction back toward the Tomlinson’s. “And you know what,” he said, grinning wickedly, “I can’t wait till the rest of the lads find out.  _That_  will be a right riot.”   
  
Louis, despite wanting to actually avoid that revealing as long as possible, laughed along with him.   
  


**

  
  
Stan, it turned out, was actually much more okay with it than Louis had expected him to be. Not that he had expected Stan to ditch him or anything, but he thought he might have taken a couple days to come around to the whole idea. But he was hardly perturbed, not even all that bothered by the thought of Louis and Harry  _together_. “Shoulda known it, though,” he had said, shaking his head at himself. “I knew those crazy fangirls were onto something, there.” Harry had barked a laugh; Louis had fought back a blush.   
  
By the end of the night, Stan was acting like nothing had changed. And really, nothing had.   
  
“But no, really,” Stan started as he followed Harry and Louis to the door to see them out. “Use a condom, Lou. I mean have you read the tabloids about your boyfriend? Apparently that dick has been to China and back again. Don’t go near it without some sort of protective gear. Maybe give it a good cleansing, too. Purify it. Sterilize it. Use a shitload of chemicals if you have to. Or just stay away from it altogether, that works too. Or – ”  
  
“ _Okay_ , dickhead, we’re leaving,” Louis cut Stan off when he thought Harry’s cheeks couldn’t turn another shade darker (hello, his dick was the topic of a rather brutal conversation. He had every right to be embarrassed, if not also a little terrified).   
  
Louis chuckled and nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own before turning back toward Stan. “We’ll see you at one of the shows, yeah?”   
  
Stan stepped forward to hug Lou, squeezing once for good measure. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, buddy.”   
  
“And you,” he directed toward Harry with a pointed finger as he pulled away. “Be good to him, yeah. I don’t want to beat up Britain’s favorite curly-haired popstar, but I will if I have to.”   
  
Harry paled at the warning but nodded, almost frantically. “I-I’d never… I, erm, yeah. ‘Course.”   
  
Stan nodded once. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Now, off you two. Go, like, take the UK by storm or whatever it is you fancy popstars do for your career. Go make little fangirls sob.”   
  
Louis and, at last, Harry laughed and agreed to do just that, to make Stan proud. Another round of goodbyes was shared before Louis found himself making the short walk back home with Harry’s arm wrapped snug around his shoulders. It provided a security and warmth he hadn’t even known he needed, much less wanted, but he certainly liked it and burrowed even closer as they walked.   
  
“Stan’s funny, isn’t he?” he wondered mindlessly along the way, glancing up at Harry. He was staring right back.   
  
“More like terrifying,” he jested, grinning. “I was bracing myself for him to bring up castration.”   
  
“Just be glad it didn’t get that far.” Louis chuckled, vibrating against Harry’s side. “Maybe next time, though.”   
  
“Maybe,” Harry echoed.   
  
Silence fell over them for the next few minutes, falling across them as still as the night.   
  
“Do you,” Louis spoke up quietly, clearing his throat, as it was almost lost to the wind. “Didn’t you think it was weird, how he was treating us like an item or something? He even called you my, my boyfriend a couple times, I mean.” He stumbled through his words and was thankful for the darkness as he felt his cheeks burning bright with a new blush.   
  
He expected Harry to chuckle, maybe. Perhaps say something about how  _yeah, Stan’s a weird one, even gives Niall a run for his money._  
  
But instead, Harry only shrugged and hummed in a way that was probably meant to be casual, if not a tad indifferent.   
  
But it had Louis biting his lip and willing his blush to stop from flaring even further.


	13. Laying Off

If being back home was fucking weird, then being back with the boys was fucking bizarre.   
  
They knew it would be, as it always was—surreal, more like, stepping back into a life that still felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone fortunate, someone famous, someone who had all the lucky stars in the universe, but certainly not him, not Harry, not some 17 year old boy from Cheshire, from little Holmes Chapel. It still always felt like a dream.   
  
But here’s the thing: Harry already felt like he was part of a dream.   
  
A different kind of dream, it was, over their little holiday break. With Louis. It felt like a dream, like he was suspended in some sort of blissful disbelief, unable to believe in everything happening around him. It was like how he felt with X-Factor and making it as far as they did each and every week. Harry was confident all the way through, sure, but he also never expected that much to happen.   
  
And he certainly didn’t expect what was happening now with Louis. To look up and find Louis already looking his way, to find Louis smiling to himself and only to smile brighter when Harry noticed him staring, he didn’t expect any of it. To have Louis sitting closer than ever before at meals and interviews and whenever they were just hanging with the guys, legs pressed together from knee to hip, even when there was more than enough room to spread out. He didn’t expect it.   
  
To look across the stage and  _see_  him.   
  
Usually it was the sight of the crowd that stuck Harry back into that blissful land of disbelief. But now, here, here it was Louis, and it caught Harry off guard and made him sort of breathless in a way he’d never before experienced, and it made him stumble and choke on a lyric, but he made it back to reality to catch the next line with a swimming head and sweaty palms.   
  
“Y’alright there, Harry?” Li came up beside him at the song break. Zayn was talking to the crowd. Niall was grinning and motioning everywhere while talking to Lou.   
  
 _Lou._  
  
Harry looked back to Liam, the boy’s dark brows scrunched up in the genuine concern he always sported, and swallowed. It felt like his heart had leapt to inhabit his throat, but he smiled as strongly as he could. It came off weak.   
  
Unable to find his words, he nodded and Liam looked to say something more, but the beginning riffs to  _Stole My Heart_  (really?  _Honestly_?) overpowered anything else, and Liam could only smile his worried smile and squeeze Harry’s shoulder in something like reassurance.   
  
And so the show continued, Harry’s thoughts a jumbled mess and his heart pounding faster and harder than strictly necessary whenever his eyes caught Lou’s across the stage.   
  
And Harry thought himself absolutely screwed.   
  


**

  
  
They hadn’t talked about it.   
  
Them.   
  
What… what they could and should and shouldn’t do once back in the game, back in the spotlight, back with the boys. They had only spoken briefly on the way back to London to meet up with the others.   
  
“We’ll just… lay off a bit,” Lou had said.   
  
“In front of them?” Harry had tried not to sound too hopeful, tried not to let it show how much he didn’t want to lay off, not anywhere, no matter whose presence.   
  
Louis nodded, a bit stiffly, a bit maybe uncertainly. He never brought his eyes to Harry’s. “Yeah, and just,” he sighed, pausing for a second more as he scrunched up his face in thought. “I don’t know, in general? I think it might be easier, since the others will be around all the time and all, so.”   
  
And that’s where that conversation had ended. Short and unobtrusive but also lacking in finality and particulars, neither of which sat well with Harry. He liked knowing where his matters stood, what was happening, if everything was okay or if he should be preparing for disappointment; bottom line, he liked to be in the know. Uncertainty wasn’t his friend, which was what had gotten him into this entire situation in the first place—uncertainty about Louis, curiosity about Louis’ odd behavior. He didn’t like not knowing so much that he cornered Louis into telling him what was wrong, what was happening, and Harry had half a mind to do the same now.   
  
But he couldn’t, not with the other boys constantly around. It would be too risky, even if he managed to get Louis alone for a little while. Privacy was something to always be desired while on tour.   
  
So off they were laying, lying low, keeping away from each other as much as possible so no one would suspect a thing had changed. (Though Harry kind of really wanted to tell them all that things _had_  changed—big things, things he was happy about, things he thought might go somewhere, things he didn’t want to keep hidden. But he had to, at least for now, for Louis.)  
  
But that didn’t stop Harry from sending off a text to the boy situated in bed just meters away:  
  
 **“Laying off a bit” sucks. Miss you x.**  
  


**

  
  
“Finally, a bit of down time,” Niall sighed as he slumped down into a couch in one of the hotel rooms. The first hotel room they’d finally gotten a bit of time to settle into, since they were in Glasgow for two nights instead of one. And boy, was that little bit of extra time needed.   
  
Zayn snorted, swatting the blonde’s feet off of his lap where Niall had so decided to spread them in midst of his relaxing. “You coulda been relaxing instead of challenging Harry to Draw Something on our breaks, y’know,” he reminded him.   
  
Niall only rolled his eyes. “If I could fall asleep anywhere and everywhere like you can, Z, maybe I would, yeah?”   
  
“Don’t hate just because you’re jealous, Nialler,” Zayn grinned, even as the blonde flicked his ear.   
  
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t wanna sleep all the time either. Maybe I’d rather talk to my bandmates and find out what they did on their holiday and how their families are than sleep through conversations and—”   
  
“You never asked what I did on holiday,” Liam interrupted from the only armchair in the room.   
  
Niall’s cheeks darkened with a fitting blush and Zayn’s lips peeled into a shit-eating grin. “You’ve been real busy talkin’ to your bandmates, eh?”   
  
Ignoring Zayn’s remark, Niall spoke up over him, “So Liam, what’d you do on holiday? Anything exciting? How’s the family? How’s Danielle? That’s her you’ve been texting nonstop since the concert ended, innit?”   
  
Liam blushed and shoved his phone into his pocket, folding his arms decisively across his chest. “Dani’s good. And my family’s doing well, thanks. We didn’t do anything terribly exciting, though,” he began and continued to recount the mundane things his family had done while he was home, despite how Niall and Zayn both become far more interested in the muted telly than his stories.   
  
Until, “Louis!” Niall shouted over Liam, cutting the brunette off as both Louis and Harry entered the hotel room (was it Louis and Harry’s room? It actually might’ve been. All of their belongings were scattered in multiple rooms, though. Well. Niall’s things were, anyway. He always seemed to claim a bit of everyone’s room, no matter where they were staying and no matter for how short a time.)   
  
“Lou, Haz, hi! Where’ve you been?”   
  
“Erm, just went for a bite,” Harry answered for them both, as Louis tried not to blush and entered the room a bit farther to put more distance between them. Harry pretended not to notice.   
  
Niall’s face fell. “You guys went out without us?” he deadpanned, though his voice sounded nothing short of scandalized.   
  
“We weren’t out for long, Niall,” Harry assured him with a laugh.   
  
“Yeah, and we weren’t even alone, “Louis added for good measure. “Had security with us the whole time, you know. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous night out or any of that.”   
  
And it hadn’t been, Harry would have agreed. The curly-haired boy had been hoping for some time alone with Louis at last, but instead became part of a quick get-in-get-out late-night snack run at some corner shop with eyes following them the entire way. It was the furthest from “alone” he’d felt this entire time.   
  
Actually, that’s not entirely true.   
  
Harry had felt spectacularly alone on their little snack run, as he felt most of the time since the second leg of the tour had begun. It might seem weird, claiming to feel alone while surrounded by four of his favorite people in the world and arenas full of screaming, cheering fans. That description right there seems to dash out the very definition alone altogether.   
  
But none of that really mattered when his best friend took to acting like he’s not even there. It wasn’t exactly the cold shoulder Louis was giving Harry lately. It was more like a… “I Don’t Know How to Act Like We’re Just Friends Anymore, So I’m Going to Kind Of Ignore You So That Nobody Suspects That I Kind Of Really Actually Like You (Or That You Sucked Me Off While on Holiday Or That I Came Out to My Mum Or That I Think Snogging You Was the Best Way to Ring in the New Year, Actually)” performance of sorts—if Harry were to put a proper title on Louis’ behavior. But it sure did feel like the cold shoulder sometimes.   
  
And tonight had been no exception, as Louis kept his responses curt and seemingly indifferent the entire time they were out. Harry really thought he shouldn’t have been surprised, what with security practically breathing down their necks from the very second they walked outside and the amount of fans that greeted them and followed like a pack of loyal, overly curious (to the point of annoying) puppies.   
  
He told himself not to be surprised by Louis’ standoffish behavior, not to let it get to him.  _Don’t get upset_ , he told himself more than once. He knew why Louis was acting the way he was, but knowing didn’t make the situation any easier. And knowing the reason why didn’t make him feel any less alone as Louis kept a steady pace ahead of him, stoic features and hunched up shoulders and grin bright but missing its general enthusiasm.   
  
So the alone time Harry had been hoping for with Louis that evening was certainly not “alone time”, just the two of them. But Harry certainly had felt very alone.   
  
“But  _still_ ,” Niall insisted, the whine in his voice not unlike a pouting child. “You went without me!”   
  
Louis grinned at the blond and ruffled his hair before sinking into the couch beside him, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement at his younger friend. “We’ll take you with us next time, Niall. Promise,” he said all too seriously and chose that very moment to bring Harry back into the conversation, throwing a glance at him over his shoulder. “Right, Haz?”   
  
Harry totally didn’t preen at Louis acknowledging him while in front of the others, but he definitely smiled and didn’t think twice before piling onto the couch and squeezing into a space far too small. Half on Niall, half on the couch, and with a hip jutting into Zayn’s thigh, he settled in with a grin and threw an arm around the Irish man in a reassuring hug.   
  
“Of course we will,” he echoed Louis’ promise. And maybe his fingers rested on Louis’ shoulder on the other side of Niall instead of finishing out the half embrace properly, but nobody had to know.   
  
And maybe Louis didn’t move away from his touch, even with Niall, Liam, and Zayn all present and conscious and sober. Maybe Louis even shrugged into the touch with a deep breath and relaxed ( _is he going to let that stay is he oh my god he actually is_ ) as nothing happened at the contact—nobody was pointing fingers or jumping to conclusions or questioning what they were doing or— _oh for fuck’s sake, nobody gave a flying fuck._  
  
Victory marches and celebratory fireworks going off in Harry’s head at the slightest of wins, he nearly missed as the conversation moved onward.   
  
“Just stayed home, really,” Louis was saying. “It’s not like we had all that much time to go anywhere special, anyway.”   
  
“Didn’t even make a trip to see El?” Liam wondered, being the good boyfriend and all. He always asked about the others’ girlfriends.   
  
And before Louis could stutter through a response, Niall was butting back in, “Yeah, haven’t even heard about her in a while. How is she? Is she coming to any more of the shows?”   
  
Shit. Harry couldn’t see Louis all that easily without leaning forward to look around Niall, but he already knew he would be blushing and trying to sort through a proper response fast enough to swerve off any suspicions. He gave the older boy’s shoulder a tight, encouraging squeeze, hoping that said enough to keep his nerves in check and  
  
“I, um, no, didn’t get to see her, but I heard she’s good and all,” Louis sputtered out and ended with a swallow so hard Harry could even hear it.   
  
“Don’t know if she’ll be making it to anymore shows, though,” Harry went in for the save without missing a beat. “But Stan’ll be coming to one soon, right, Lou?”   
  
“What? Oh, right, Stan, yeah,” Louis found his way back, no doubt lost in his thoughts at the turn in conversation, and nodded at the information. “Yeah, he should be coming to one soon. Next week, I think.”   
  
“Cool,” was all any of the boys had to say before moving on, but Louis and Harry were left behind. Harry could feel the heat still radiating off of Louis, a blush still warm on his neck from the unwanted attention and unexpected question. He couldn’t look his friend in the face to give him a quick smile right then, but he did what he could and gave his shoulder another squeeze. This time, though, he let his fingers linger a little longer than before, let them hold on for a moment’s more reassurance.   
  
And this time, as quick as it might have been, fingers wrapped around his in a short moment of thanks.   
  
He smiled at the contact and hoped that Louis was doing the same when moments later his phone buzzed in his pocket. He squirmed a bit to wiggle it out of the confines of his tight jeans, freeing his arm from the back of the couch in the process, and swiped open the message.   
  
 **Thanks :) xx**  
  
That’s all it said. It really wasn’t much, and no one else would understand the reason for it, but it left Harry smiling as he tapped out an equally short response of  **anytime x.**  
  
If either of them had been paying attention to anything other than their phones while Niall and Zayn bickered on about something trivial and unnecessary ( _which extinct animal is cooler, the Tasmanian tiger or Irish elk_ ), they just might have noticed the curious look Liam was sending them.   
  
Maybe.  
  
Though, probably not.   
  


**

  
  
Lying low definitely sucked.   
  
Especially since Louis took that to mean basically no contact ever except for when in total privacy, which they were finally graced with a few days later. It wasn’t much, just a few hours to themselves on the tour bus. Niall had arranged for Zayn, Liam, and himself to go somewhere on their own as payback for Harry and Louis’ late-night snack run without them. Harry had feigned hurt when Niall had informed them of their plans, but it was surprisingly hard to act upset when he was celebrating on the inside.   
  
Because for the first time in nearly three weeks, he was alone with Louis.   
  
Again, it wasn’t much. It’s not like they were going to ravish each other entirely in the small confines of the tour bus after all this time (Harry thought Louis might run away, actually, if he suddenly came on that strong).   
  
But they had a movie up on Harry’s laptop and were lounged out in one of the bunks (Harry’s, on account that Louis’ sheets “reek of feet, sorry, Lou”), and Harry had his arm snug around Louis’ shoulders and they weren’t even talking all that much, but it was the closest and most secure the curly-haired boy had felt in weeks.   
  
“Missed you,” he found himself saying a little while later. Whispering it, actually, his lips resting just past the crown of Louis’ head.   
  
“Been here all along, idiot,” Louis responded, and the way it came out, a bit higher than usual and vibrating with a hint of laughter, Harry knew Louis was trying not to smile.   
  
“I know, but,” Harry tried to continue but found he didn’t quite know how to explain it. It was a weird feeling. “I don’t know, it feels like I haven’t really  _seen_  you since we got back, y’know?”   
  
Louis didn’t say anything, not at first, and Harry was already backing up over his words, “Or, shit, never mind, that’s stupid. I mean, I know you’ve been here and we, I just—”  
  
“I get it.”   
  
Louis shifted a bit, craning his neck to meet Harry’s eyes. Harry still had his mouth open, useless words hanging from the end of his tongue to cover up those he wasn’t sure he should be saying just yet, not with everything still sitting in such a grey area. But Louis was smiling at him, and Harry could only wonder, “You do?”   
  
“ _Haz_ ,” Louis said with what might have been the goofiest grin Harry had ever seen on the older boy, and it sent his stomach into somersaults and tied it in knots and he would have been damned if he didn’t kiss the boy right then.   
  
And so he did.   
  
He kissed Louis without hesitation, but he didn’t push it. It was just lips on lips, no tongue, no teeth, just them and their lips peeling into identical smiles as they reunited for the first time in weeks. It didn’t need to be more, and if Harry took the time to really think about that he would realize it scared him, but he didn’t, not then. Instead, he pulled Louis a little closer and kissed him again.   
  
Louis kissed him back, Harry realized as a hand crept up to cup the side of his face, a thumb ghosting over the ridge of his jaw. It was soft and slow and maybe even a bit lethargic, but it had Harry’s heart taking off all the same. He knew his cheeks were alight with a blush and he knew his lips were spreading into a smile too stupidly wide as they broke apart, but none of that really mattered when Louis admitted, “Missed you, too, fool.”   
  
“Yeah?” Harry could never seem to believe such things when Louis said them, not anymore.   
  
The older boy grinned. “Yeah,” he confirmed and nuzzled his way into the space between Harry’s head and shoulder, claiming the spot with a light kiss to the side of his neck. And with the curve of a smile pressed against Harry’s skin, he added, “Going so long without my guinea pig isn’t the easiest thing in the world, y’know.”   
  
“ _Ohhh_ ,” Harry laughed, “so that’s why you missed me. I see how it is.”   
  
“Not the only reason!”   
  
“No?”   
  
“Of course not,” Louis was quick to correct him, even pulling away from his cuddling to look the younger boy in the eyes once more. His smile curved a bit too devilishly in the seconds to follow, though. “But,” he added and dropped his voice to just above a whisper, “I’m not going to deny missing that side of things too.”   
  
“Well,” Harry said and stole a quick peek at the lock screen of his phone, “I bet we still have a little while. We could fix that.”   
  
The younger boy quirked a brow and the older one grinned, and if they opted for a blowjob over the end of  _Love, Actually_ , well, none of the others got back in time to ever know.   
  


**

  
  
Harry was well in over his head. This was something he came to realize over his holiday break and something he chose to keep to himself until the time called for otherwise, because being a seventeen ( _almost_  eighteen) year-old boy in the world’s biggest boy band didn’t exactly make the whole “falling for your best friend” dilemma any easier. Actually, it made the whole ordeal much more stressful and all the more less likely to ever end happily.   
  
So when Liam sat down next to him the one day on break from sound check and greeted him with, “So when did Larry Stylinson become an actual thing?” he didn’t exactly know how to handle it.


	14. A Maddening Calm

Harry wondered for a second if his heart hadn’t stopped.   
  
Perhaps he’d suffered a premature, fatal heart attack and been thrust immediately into hell. He had expected the place to be more ominous and dark and, you know, enveloped in flames like all the supposed descriptions he’d heard as a child. He hadn’t expected it to consist of fabrications of his best mates from life asking him the worst kinds of incriminating questions. What was next? Would he be forced to tell a figment of his mum all of his sexual encounters in great, exhausted detail? That certainly sounded like a special kind of humiliating hell.   
  
But, he soon realized as a pair of concerned doe eyes crept into his field of vision, this wasn’t hell.   
  
He was still very much alive and very much failing to answer Liam and very much forgetting how to breathe. He gasped for a breath, not so subtly, and simultaneously broke free of his thoughts to meet Liam’s questioning gaze.   
  
“Y’alright?” he managed to hear Liam ask, brow furrowed. A hand patted him on the back.   
  
“Yeah,” Harry choked out with a stiff nod, more for himself than for Liam. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine, I just… I-I’m sorry. What were you saying?”   
  
The brown-eyed boy chuckled, his lips curled into a slight smile as he glanced over toward the rest of the boys before turning back to Harry. His eyes wrinkled as he gave Harry’s knee a short squeeze. “Just curious, Haz,” he continued, knowing Harry had heard him well enough. “Didn’t mean to freak you out like that.”   
  
Harry swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. “Y-you didn’t,” he tried.   
  
Liam gave him a look that told otherwise. “Right. Sorry.” He smiled and looked away, pulling out his phone briefly—probably to check up on Danielle—and tapping away on it with what looked like interest and doing this tricky thing where he acted so nonchalantly indifferent to whatever was being discussed that his conversation partner finally gave in and told him everything he’d been waiting to hear.   
  
And, of course, it worked.   
  
Harry gave in only moments later with an exasperated sigh and an uncertain, “How’d you even find out?”   
  
The older boy perked up at the return to conversation, but shrugged. “Something’s been… different since we got back, is all. I mean, there’s more staring and blushing and secret conversations and it’s like you two are trying  _not_  to be close whereas before you just didn’t care?” He shrugged again, sparing another glance across the stage. “Just put two and two together, I guess.”   
  
For all the shit Liam got for messing up geography and not always knowing the answers to simple questions, he sure was bloody attentive, Harry had to hand it to him. But Liam’s admission didn’t quite make the situation any less wrecking, and he asked the question burning on the tip of his tongue, “Do Niall and Zayn… ?” He couldn’t even finish it.   
  
“No,” Liam answered quickly, catching on as he shook his head for good measure. “Least not from me, they don’t.”   
  
Harry nodded.   
  
“And they won’t hear it from me,” Liam added on, giving Harry’s knee another quick squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about that. Either of you, I mean.”   
  
Harry met Liam’s eyes in a fleeting motion, nodded once with a little, shaking smile, and looked away because looking at him for too long felt too telling for the moment. He didn’t want to look at Liam, nor did he really want Liam to look at him. His neck was warm with a blush and he knew his cheeks were heated with a similar, embarrassed glow that seemed permanent.   
  
Silence wore on for a minute, and Harry didn’t know what to do. He felt like he should explain something—like how or when or why—but not all of that was his to tell. He couldn’t go on about how without starting from the beginning, but  _what even is there to tell?_  
  
A part of him said nothing; he was still just helping out his best mate. He was just a guinea pig. They were nothing more. They might have crossed some lines and blurred some edges, but there still really was no  _they_.   
  
At least, that’s how it sure felt sometimes.   
  
And that’s how Harry found himself fumbling through a partway explanation, partway defense, words sticking in his throat and stacking up on his tongue the whole time. “We’re not really,” he started, only to shake his head and try again, “I mean, it’s not really like we’re… It’s not, like, a thing. It’s just, it’s whatever, er, mostly—”  
  
Liam interrupted with a slight raise of his hand. “Harry,” he said and waited until the younger boy met his gaze. He smiled, the skin wrinkling around his eyes again as he told him gently, “I don’t mind, you know.”   
  
“You don’t?”   
  
The older boy chuckled and shook his head, like that might just have been the stupidest question in all of human existence. “Course not! Whatever makes you both happy, makes me happy,” he concluded and clapped Harry on the back, switching gears entirely. “Now how ‘bout we go join the others? We’ve got a show to put on, anyway!”   
  
So with a deep, steadying breath, Harry pulled himself from his chair and returned to sound check. His stomach was still somersaulting with unease, and his mind was running in circles with unlikely (but frighteningly possible) scenarios.   
  
But his chest—his chest was lighter, like a knot that had been tied too tightly around his lungs had finally fallen loose.   
  
And somehow, part of him was relieved.   
  


**

  
  
Harry  _was_  relieved. It was a comfort, knowing that someone else in the band knew (at least slightly) what was going on and didn’t mind it. It was a relief, really. But when he saw Liam talking animatedly with Niall later on after sound check, his stomach churned. He trusted Liam, of course he did, but trust has never kept a person from slipping up, from making a mistake. Harry knew this, and he knew he was staring perhaps too intently even now as Liam and Zayn conversed in excited, buzzing whispers backstage.   
  
He didn’t know just how obvious his staring was, though, until an all too familiar hand snaked around his upper arm. He jumped at the contact. “Christ,” he breathed as his eyes fell on the boy standing beside him. “Lou, you scared me.”   
  
Louis’ lips quirked upward, a slight laugh trickling through them. “Don’t think it’d take much to scare you out of a trance like that, Hazza,” he teased. “What’re you even staring at like that? Thought you might be set to kill.”   
  
Harry tried a laugh, but it stuck in his mouth—too dry—and he opted for a smile instead. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, “just zoning out a bit, I guess.”   
  
The older boy lifted one disbelieving eyebrow.   
  
“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry insisted in response to the silent question. “Really.”   
  
“You’re a horrible liar, you know that.”   
  
“I know.”  
  
“But you’re not going to tell me?”   
  
“I’d really prefer not to, at least… for now,” Harry amended. He didn’t know how Louis would react to the news, anyway—finding out that their whole  _whatever_  wasn’t so secret anymore. He didn’t imagine it would blow over well, though, so he vowed to wait until after the show.   
  
That is, until Louis decided the best tactic was to tickle him into spilling the news.   
  
“Ok, o-okay, Li, L-Liam knows!” Harry sputtered out between wheezing laughs. He breathed a sigh of relief as Louis’ hands disappeared from his sides at last, and wiped the tears from his eyes. Laughter subsided, he uttered in a steadier tone, “Liam knows.”   
  
Louis blinked at him once, his brow furrowing. “Knows… what exactly?” he asked, and he smiled that fake smile he always wore when he was confused or freaking out but didn’t want to show it. It was pinched and tinier than it should have been, and Harry couldn’t help but reach over to grip the older boy’s forearm before answering him.   
  
“About…”  _Us_ , Harry wanted to say, but it felt too heavy on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it and opted instead for, “He knows we’ve been fooling around a bit, is all.”   
  
Lou’s eyes widened, pupils seeming impossibly large in the darkness offstage. His face looked pale, but a blush claimed his cheeks. “How?” he demanded, tone cutting like a knife through the silence and brow angling into a glare before Harry could explain. “ _How_  did he possibly find that out?” he was whispering, but yelling, words sharp against the far-off sounds around them. “Did you—?”   
  
“No!” Harry was quick to deny, eyes flying open wide at the unfinished accusation, and lowered his voice as a crewmember passed them with a concerned look. Harry sighed and dragged Louis a few feet farther into the shadows, farther into privacy. His voice dropped as he explained in rushed words, “He’s bloody attentive, you know that. He cornered me during rehearsal, okay, said that we were being too obvious and he put two and two together and—”  
  
The explanation wasn’t necessary, in a way. Louis was still eying him wearily, and Harry trailed off with a sigh. His tone was softer when he added, “Look, I didn’t tell him, Lou. I wouldn’t do that to you, you know I wouldn’t.” But the older boy didn’t look so sure, and it bore wondering, “Don’t you?”   
  
A smile resurfaced across Louis’ lips, and he nodded with a weak agreement. But his shoulders were still tense when they were called to go on stage and they stayed tense during the first few songs and he didn’t glance over at Harry during the set, even though he had during every gig so far.   
  
He had turned in on himself just a little, Harry could tell, and he would have gone up and put a casual arm around his shoulders if he didn’t know it would only make matters worse.   
  
So he didn’t.   
  
But Liam did.   
  
The brown-eyed boy fell into place beside Louis during one of the songs not even halfway through the show and placed a hand on the older boy’s shoulder. He didn’t visibly say a word or even so much as turn to look at Louis, but he clearly squeezed once, in what Harry supposed was a reassuring sort of way, and smiled during the song break.   
  
Louis still kept his distance during the rest of the show, but the smile that swept across his face when they reached the last song was wide and genuine and reached all the way up to his eyes.   
  


**

  
  
Harry retreated to his room early that night.   
  
Usually he would stay with the rest of the boys for a while after the concert. They’d lounge out around a table of too much food and talk and joke about nonsense and get caught up in silly debates about Disney princesses and football clubs and anything and everything under the sun. They’d turn on a shitty television program and ignore it until one of them knew a line, or create some ridiculous game that only really seemed funny because of the hour.   
  
It was their usual post-concert tradition, as unspoken as it was. So when Harry ducked out earlier than anyone else, he received more than one sad face. But he assured them all he was  _fine, just tired_ , and headed for bed early.   
  
His thoughts were running away from him that night, and he couldn’t really understand why. He was no longer worried about Liam knowing, or concerned that the older boy would tell any of the others; he knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t worried about any of that, really. But his chest was wound tighter than usual, and every time he closed his eyes he was met with flashes of familiar blue. It made him stomach tighten and then drop.  
  
He showered for much longer than strictly necessary, staying in until the pads of his fingers were wrinkled beyond recognition and the water had run cold.   
  
He hadn’t even touched the bar of soap.   
  
Mind still clouded with too many thoughts, he patted himself dry with one of the towels and only bothered pulling on a pair of trackies before falling into bed. His head fell heavily onto the pillow, and he lay like that for quite some time, just head on his pillow and damp hair soaking the sheets and eyes trained on the ceiling in the dark room.   
  
He might’ve thought it odd behavior, but he was too lost in his thoughts to really notice. He was lost in a troubling maze, as is often the case when you feel something but think that you maybe shouldn’t.   
  
And that was the case for Harry Styles that night.   
  
He thought—he’d thought many times, actually—that this whole thing would have passed by now. He thought that things would have returned back to a relative normal, that Louis would grow more confident within his own skin and Harry would return to being Harry. Any talk of being a “guinea pig” or anything more would be talk of the past, something that they both would look back on with fondness but never really speak of.   
  
But here he was—here they were. Nearly February and still chasing each other about with furtive glances and too light kisses and leaving too many words unsaid.   
  
Perhaps that’s what was doing Harry in, he figured.   
  
Everything they did was left unsaid.   
  
They never talked about what it was they were really doing, while things were still latching onto Harry’s insides, feelings settling in without his consent and settling in to stay. He recognized the little flutter in his chest when Louis was around, of course he did. He recognized the pleasant warmth that spread all the way to his toes when Louis sent him a look that he didn’t send anyone else, or when he woke up to find them curled around each other—though he hadn’t woken up to that in almost a month now. He recognized those fleeting feelings and kind of wished they weren’t there, at least not so strongly and not for Louis, but they were.   
  
He also recognized the weight in the pit of his stomach, or so it felt. He recognized the distressed somersaulting that came whenever Louis tensed up around him or blocked him out, shooting him down with a warning look. He recognized that feeling, too, and wished it weren’t there, but it was.   
  
And it was a mixture of all those feelings, climbing in his chest and pulling down his stomach and messing with his head, which currently had him staring up at the ceiling in hopes for some sort of calm.   
  
It came, that calm he’d been mindlessly searching for, a while later.   
  
He heard the door to the room open, that little movement and click when the keycard was swiped, but didn’t think anything of it. Louis would enter without flicking on the lights, as courteous as ever, and crawl into his own bed across the way without ever uttering a word. That’s how it happened every night on tour.   
  
But that night was different from all the others.   
  
The lights remained off, but the bed dipped just beside Harry a minute later as a body crawled into the space beside him. It was warm and cautious, hesitant for just a moment before wrapping itself around Harry’s lanky frame.   
  
“You still awake?” came Louis’ voice, a gentle whisper in the darkness.   
  
Harry hummed his confirmation. “Thinking,” he added on, though he remained unmoving, eyes still blinking up above him.   
  
He didn’t notice Louis staring at him, eyeing him curiously. “What about?”   
  
His response didn’t come for another quiet, motionless minute. “A lot of things,” he said.   
  
Louis settled in beside him and hummed like he got it, like he understood, but Harry knew he didn’t, knew he couldn’t, and choked out a laugh that sounded wet and cynical and too loud against the night. “You drive me mad sometimes, you know that?” he asked in a cracking whisper and ignored the way his eyes were stinging. “Absolutely mad.”   
  
He didn’t turn to look at Louis, but he knew the older boy was staring at him, could feel his eyes on him, burning into his skin. “What did I do?”   
  
“Nothing.” Harry laughed and scrubbed a hand over his face and finally,  _finally_  met Louis’ eyes. They were staring at him, curious, wide as saucers, glistening in the little bit of moonlight that reflected off of them, and they made Harry’s chest cramp up and his stomach drop and he choked out another laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.   
  
“You did nothing,” he reiterated, “and that’s what’s driving me so mad, Lou. So fucking mad.”   
  
Louis’ brow scrunched up, noticeable even in the darkness. “I don’t get it,” he said, sounding at a loss.  
  
And no, of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t feel the way Harry’s chest was contracting with these feelings he wished hadn’t latched on so easily, or the way his stomach twisted into impossible knots when he pushed him away, or the way his mind was swimming with too many thoughts and too many worries and too many questions and too many words, so many words that never had an opportunity to be said and he feared never would.   
  
Louis couldn’t know these things, but it was too much for Harry to explain, and he didn’t want to.   
  
It was too much for that night.   
  
It was too much to deal with right then.   
  
So he shook his head wordlessly at Louis’ questioning gaze and surged forward, kissing Louis soundly and with more drive and desperation than he ever had in the past.   
  
Louis was caught off guard and fell back against the mattress with the mere force of the kiss, and Harry had no choice but to follow through. He followed Louis down, didn’t let their lips part as he twisted to accommodate the angle, twisted in over Louis and let his hand fan open against Louis’ shoulder only to drag him closer.   
  
He kissed him long and hard and hoped that Louis got it. He wanted Louis to get it, to understand at least a little bit what he meant, what he was feeling. He wanted Louis to feel this—this aching chest and heavy stomach and confusing mind and this desire, this latent want that burnt so deep within him and so strongly that he was sure it was never going to be put out.   
  
He wanted Louis to feel it, all of it, without having to tell him.   
  
Louis’ hands rested high against his chest, fingers brushing overtop his collarbone, like he thought to push back at one time. But he didn’t push Harry away, not even a little, not once to break their lips apart. Instead, his fingers ran up the expanse of skin leading all the way up to Harry’s jaw and his hand cupped the younger boy’s face in a way that maybe should have felt too gentle, too sweet for the moment.   
  
But Harry found himself leaning into the touch and bringing his own hand up to meet Louis’. His fingers fell into the open spaces and curled there and stayed, staying as they both relaxed into the mattress, their kiss following along with it.   
  
The desperation that had been there at the start slowly dissipated, and Harry’s heart was no longer racing in his chest. That tightness, that knot tied too tight, unraveled as they melted together. His stomach leveled out, his thoughts stopped rushing by too quickly to grab, and Louis was pulling him down into a deeper kiss.   
  
Harry only kept himself partway up with one elbow dug into the mattress, the rest of him curling overtop of Louis and unwinding into the kiss with the most peace of mind he’d felt in weeks.   
  
Because that calm he’d been looking for, he realized as their hands remained entwined and their lips met time and time again until they were both bruised and willing sleep, was right here.   
  
And sometime later, eyes drooping but hands still clutching and limbs crisscrossed in impossible ways, Louis’ voice broke the night. “I’m glad Liam knows,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost lost to the hum of the heater.   
  
Harry didn’t lift his head from where it rested against Louis’ shoulder. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Louis agreed and his fingers tightened around Harry’s. A minute passed before he added, “It’s about time someone knows about us. Besides my mum, anyway.”   
  
“Us?” This time Harry turned, his chin dragging against Louis’ skin until he could meet the older boy’s eyes. They seemed to twinkle in the darkness.   
  
Louis hummed. “Us,” he echoed, and Harry watched as his eyes fell shut like his exhaustion was suddenly too much to bear. But the older boy smiled the tiniest, most secretive of smiles, and Harry knew he got it. And this, this was something that didn’t need to be spoken. It was just them, that’s all it was, and Louis got it; Louis felt it and understood and patched up all the pieces with a smile and a simple recognition of  _us_.   
  
Harry’s heart hammered in his chest. Too many words were cluttering upon his tongue and daring to sneak out, and he thought the only way to keep them from falling too soon was to drown them in a kiss.   
  
So he did.


	15. Bloody Damn Time

When Louis woke up the following morning, it was to a bed all to himself. No warm body was wrapped around his, no head on his chest, no curls tickling his chin like there had been when he fell asleep too late into the night. And it felt empty, in his chest more than in his arms, but it was for the best, he figured. It was always for the best.   
  
He rolled over with a languid stretch, limbs tangling in the bed sheets as he turned away from the window and the sun and the impending day. A yawn pulled through his body as he let his eyes run across the rest of the room, glancing at the untouched bed across the way, the open suitcases by the door, and the folded note on the bedside table.  
  
Louis’ brow furrowed and he blinked at the assaulting piece of white paper that stood out against the dark grain of the table. He reached for it blindly and yanked it toward him, glaring at it in confusion.   
 __  
‘Morning Lou –  
Having breakfast with Li downstairs. I’ll bring something up for you? :) xx  
  
A smile curled Louis’ lips before he even felt it, but he didn’t fight it as he rolled back over, limbs tangling even farther into the bed sheets and burying his smile into the pillows.   
  
It amazed him, really, how that stupid boy with his stupid curls and stupid smile could make his chest all warm and light without even being present. But here Louis was, smothering a grin into the pillows because he felt too foolish just letting it bloom out in the open.   
  
As he breathed into the blankets and tried not to smile too largely, the night before came flooding back in snips and flashes. That kiss, that kiss had hurt—not so much physically, but emotionally. He remembered the mordant tone coating Harry’s words as he had explained his troubles in vague phrases. Louis had thought, for a moment, that maybe it was just Harry being Harry; that boy often did get overly existential at night and sometimes dragged Louis into his late night questioning along with him.   
  
But there had been something different, something more… Something more raw than Louis had ever heard in Harry’s voice ever before. He had sounded so  _broken_ , somehow both so open and so reserved at the same time, but Louis hadn’t understood why.   
  
He had been lost in the darkness, so lost, until Harry explained himself without any words at all. The kiss had been bruising, rough and raw and laced with confusion and low, thrumming hints of pain and desperation. Harry’s lips had latched onto his with something akin to an ache, begging him for answers, loud and silent all at once.   
  
It had hurt, the way Harry was asking for clarification without ever saying a word; the way his lips said the words his mind couldn’t; the way his tongue formed the questions he was too scared to voice aloud; the way his hands pushed Louis away like he feared getting too close, but the way his fingers brushed and pulled and trembled against Louis’ bare shoulders like he was even more afraid of ever letting go.   
  
Louis maybe should have felt overwhelmed. He thought maybe he should have, but he wasn’t. All he knew was the confusion and desperation that the younger boy was nearly radiating, and it hurt.   
  
It hurt knowing that Harry was confused like this, at odds with himself and uncertain—so uncertain—and Louis knew he was the cause, and he hated it.   
  
He hated it so much that he could only think to cradle the younger boy, answer him with gentler touches and kiss him soundly and affectionately and hold him until that confusion was put to rest.   
  
Because Louis had realized the night before, in the midst of that bruising kiss, that there was really no reason for the walls he had put up since they had rejoined the rest of the band on tour. There was no need for the restraint, for pushing Harry away in fear that things would get too weird, too complicated once their  _more than whatever_  was faced with reality.   
  
Because what he was scared about—really scared about—wasn’t that the other boys would find out. What he really feared was that once they were back at it again, back in the spotlight, surrounded by screaming fans and beautiful celebrities and popstars all around, maybe Harry wouldn’t want to do this anymore.   
  
It felt overbearing, using Harry in the way he was, when the younger boy had the entire world in front of him. Louis could sort himself on his own, he figured; Harry was free to do as he pleased.   
  
But Harry hadn’t gone anywhere, even weeks after being back on the road. Weeks of laying low and giving the boy space, and he was still glancing at Louis with small smiles and reaching for him with hesitant touches.   
  
And that kiss, as bruising as it was, was hesitant and filled with worry and fears and hope. There was a taste of hope there, stuck to Harry’s lips and silent in the darkness.   
  
It was then that Louis realized the younger boy wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.   
  
So he’d pushed away his qualms, buried that yelling confusion with a softer kiss, because there was no reason to hold back when Harry was already there.   
  
Louis’ phone buzzed on the bedside table, jerking him out of his reverie with its obnoxious vibrations. His brow furrowed and his heart seemed to skip a beat, which he pointedly ignored, as he reached out for the mobile. But there hadn’t been a reason for that skip, anyway, as the text that lit up the lock screen wasn’t from a curly-haired boy at all, rather from Stan.   
 __  
G’DAY POPSTAR !!!!!!! GUESS WHO’S IN TOWN.  
  
Another text chimed in before Louis could even think to reply.  __  
  
did u srsly guess louis i s2g if u forgot about today this friendship is over  
  
louis.  
  
louis  
  
louehhhh  
  
r u still sleeping lou  
  
omfg u fucktard get up i want lunch and ur my wallet  
  
Louis laughed despite himself and sent off a quick response before clambering out of bed and stumbling into the conjoining bathroom to get ready, the note from Harry forgotten in the sheets.   
  
It was not even five minutes later, though, when the newfound excitement of Louis’ best mate visiting was interrupted by a flash of green eyes and Louis tiptoed out of the bathroom with dripping wet feet to snatch his phone. He pulled up his messages and sent a quick text to Harry, his lower lip held uncertainly between his teeth the entire time.   
 __  
‘Morning :) No need to bring me anything. Stan’s almost here and we’re going for an early lunch.  
  
He hesitated for another moment before adding:  _thanks tho ! xx_  
  
And hit send before he could convince himself not to. Tossing his phone back to the bed, Louis returned to getting ready and tried not to think about it. Because it wasn’t a big deal, it really wasn’t. He didn’t know why he felt the need to give Harry a head’s up, to let the boy know he was planning on going out – as though Harry would otherwise be disappointed. It’s not like Louis usually sent things like this, alerting the younger boy of his whereabouts. Any other time, if someone else had distracted Louis from sending off a round of thanks or a word about his plans, it wouldn’t be a big deal.   
  
But there was something, about imagining Harry returning from breakfast to find Louis up and about and dressed and in no need of the food Harry would surely bring upstairs for him from the breakfast buffet, that had forced Louis to pause his shower simply to tell the younger boy of his plans.   
  
Failing to even acknowledge Harry’s gestures, it felt… Well. It felt wrong.   
  
Louis didn’t want to disappoint Harry, that’s the thing. He didn’t want to disappoint him, or get his hopes up, or see the smile on his face twitch the way it often did whenever he was sad but trying so very hard not to show it. He hated disappointing his friends and seeing them sad, of course; that went for all of his friends.   
  
But now, now there was something heavier weighing down in Louis’ chest when he thought about even mildly disappointing the curly-haired boy. He didn’t want to see Harry upset. He never wanted to see that, now more than ever.   
  
Actually, if he could, Louis would like to see Harry’s face light up with a huge stupid smile and those stupid dimples whenever possible, and that thought sent Louis’ heart thumping like mad.   
  


**

  
  
Stan was waiting for Louis down near the back exit of the hotel when Louis found him sometime later. He was caught up in conversation with the rest of the group, speaking animatedly with his hands about something as Niall let out a cackle. Even with all that, Harry somehow spotted Louis before any of the others, his eyes meeting Louis’ overtop their heads. A smile widened his lips, and Louis tried not to think about how his stomach seemed to tremble and flutter in response.   
  
He also tried not to think about how he really wanted to kiss that smile right off of Harry’s face.   
  
Fortunately for Louis, Stan took that moment to break off midsentence and run over to him in a dramatic flurry of limbs and shouts (Louis could have sworn he heard, “MY QUEEN!” thrown into the mix, but he couldn’t be sure) and energy. He came barreling over so suddenly that Louis barely had time to spread his arms before Stan was crashing into him with a bone-crushing hug.   
  
“Quit this whole popstar thing,” Stan said in lieu of greeting, words muffled against Lou’s shoulder. “I mean it, Lou, just quit. Boy bands are so last decade anyway. Come home. We can work at the pub and pull together funds for a flat and we’ll be just fine, just the two of us. This whole popstar thing is so overrated, honestly.”  
  
Louis chuckled into his friend’s shoulder, squeezing him once for good measure. “Missed you too, mate.”   
  
“I’m serious about the whole quitting thing,” Stan insisted.  
  
“You always are.”   
  
Stan untangled from Louis with a drawn-out sigh, muttering, “You popstars are no fun.”   
  
Louis flicked Stan’s ear before turning toward the others, who were still gathered around from their conversation. “Where’re you lot off to?”   
  
“Might shop for a bit,” Zayn supplied. “Check out what’s around, grab some lunch.”   
  
Liam nodded his agreement and then turned toward Louis and Stan with a scrunched up brow. “You know what time you need to be at the venue, right?”   
  
“Yes, Liam,” Louis laughed and rolled his eyes, “I’ve got a reminder set and everything, aren’t you proud?”   
  
The brown-eyed boy looked awed for a second and smiled fondly. “You’ve no idea,” he replied.   
  
Chuckling again, Louis straightened his jacket and let his eyes jump toward the door at the end of the hall. “Right, well then. We should probably all get going, yeah? Don’t want to waste the afternoon.”   
  
The others mumbled their agreements, said their goodbyes, and made their way toward the exit first—except for one. Harry lingered behind for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he shifted from foot to foot, eying both groups. “You guys will be good on your own, yeah?” he asked, sounding unsure.   
  
Louis had to bite back a smile, but he nodded. “We’ll be fine, Harry. You go on with the others.”   
  
“You sure?”   
  
Louis rolled his eyes this time. “Yes, I’m sure, I—”  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Harold, give your boyfriend a lunch date with his best mate, won’t you?” Stan cut in, faking annoyance with an exaggerated sigh. “So clingy, Styles, honestly it’s sickening.”   
  
Harry’s cheeks roared with a blush, but a dopey sort of grin peeled across his lips and shined up to his eyes, and Louis imagined he wasn’t faring any better himself. His cheeks felt too warm and his chest too light, and as much as he wanted to smack Stan for his words, he kind of wanted to hug him, too.   
  
“Oh my  _god_ ,” Stan groaned while looking between the two of them. “Is this seriously your reaction to being called  _boyfriends_  right now? That’s both horrifying and endearing, actually, I’m not sure if I want to puke rainbows or punch the wall repeatedly with my head.”   
  
This time, Louis did smack him – right on the arm, softened by his jacket but hard enough to still prove a point.   
  
“Ow, Louis, unnecessary abuse!” His friend shouted, exaggerating his pain as usual. He rubbed at his forearm with his other hand and sent Louis a glare. “Fame has changed you, Louis,” he quipped, shaking his head with a mournful sigh. “It really has.”  
  
“Harry, mate, you coming or what?” Zayn shouted from farther down the hallway, Niall and Liam looking back toward them as well, stopped just inside the exit.   
  
Harry spared them a glance and told them he’d meet them in the van in a minute. Niall and Zayn looked to wait, like they usually would, but Liam turned to spare another glance over his shoulder. His big brown eyes shifted from Harry to Louis and back again before he smiled all too knowingly and turned away with a fond shake of his head, ushering Zayn and Niall out of the hotel with security on their tail.   
  
Harry shared a smile with Louis, noting the brief moment of privacy, as the others were busy exiting the building. The few security members who were waiting at the end of the corridor were too distracted to pay Harry, Louis, and Stan any mind in the moment. The rest of the hallway was completely abandoned.   
  
It was a rare opportunity to have in a technically public environment, and Harry took advantage of it while he could. With a short smile, he leaned in to steal a quick kiss from Louis’ lips.   
  
“I’ll see you two later,” he said while pulling away, his smile even wider as he backed away with shining eyes.   
  
Louis could only nod a response before the curly-haired boy was turning away and jogging to catch up with the others.   
  
Maybe it was silly for Louis’ heart to be pounding from such a simple brush of the lips, but there it was. It was the most out in the open they had ever done such a thing, even if it was just a simple peck. But it had Louis’ cheeks darkening, and even Stan must have felt the weight of the moment, because he was standing beside Louis with an interested and slightly impressed look upon his face.   
  
“That felt… New?” He wondered, searching for the right word.   
  
Louis blinked his eyes away from the closing door and met his friend’s curious gaze. “Something like that.” Stan lifted a brow, but Louis shook his head. “I’ll – later – I’ll explain more – Lunch?”  
  
That seemed to satisfy Stan’s curiosity enough, as he clapped a hand on Louis’ shoulder and pointed forward with the other. “To lunch!”   
  


**

  
  
“So you, like,  _proper_  like him now, huh?” Stan asked around a mouthful of food.   
  
Louis would have grimaced if he weren’t so used to his friend’s manners, but rather he let out a disastrously long sigh and picked apart one of his remaining chips. “Yeah,” he responded after a moment and frowned when  _yeah_  didn’t seem to serve justice to the flutter in his chest. Clearing his throat, he met Stan’s eyes and amended with a light smile. “I really do like him, you know?” He paused, sighing, lighter this time; happier. “He just, I don’t know, he’s got this way about him—”   
  
“Let me stop you before you start rambling off your freaking wedding vows—beautiful as I’m sure they are, I don’t want to hear them right now,” Stan interrupted, wagging a chip in Louis’ direction. “I’ve still got half a shake left anyway, I’d prefer you not scare away my appetite just yet.”   
  
Louis made to protest but settled into his seat with a slight pout, shoving his tray away. “Fine. You’re the one who asked, mind.”   
  
Stan made a face like he was regretting his words (a very rare occurrence) and sucked in a deep breath just to let it out in heavy sigh, shoulders drooping. “God, yeah, fine, you’re right, I did,” he corrected, righting himself. “You can’t blame me for wondering, though. You two  _did_  act like a pair of lovesick hounds during X-Factor.”   
  
“We did not!” Louis snapped, but the way his cheeks lit up with a blush showed exactly how right Stan was.   
  
“Mhm,” his friend hummed with a roll of his eyes.   
  
Their conversation lulled for a moment, the murmurs of the other patrons filling the void with gentle voices and soft laughter. They were tucked away in a back corner of the restaurant, far enough away that the fans and paparazzi outside the front window were no bother at all. It was a comfort, though, because they weren’t forced to keep their conversation to hushed whispers or worry about an eager fan overhearing.   
  
No one was paying them any mind.   
  
It was a relief, and Louis was able to breathe easier.   
Just like he could the night before.   
  
“I’m glad Liam knows,” Louis stated quietly, breaking the silence of their conversation. “It’s a relief, you know?”   
  
Stan smiled one of those rare, quiet smiles he sometimes sported, the ones that weren’t drowning in sarcasm or mirth, the ones that had convinced Louis he wanted this boy as his friend all those years ago. “I don’t,” he said honestly, voice soft as he took a sip of his soda. “But I can imagine.”   
  
It had been a relief—afterward. It was sobering at first, like being dunked headfirst into a tub of ice water without taking a breath beforehand. It made him freak out, as much as he could before they were ushered on stage, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that yet, ready for the others to look at him differently, to treat him differently.   
  
But then Liam didn’t.   
  
They were on stage, and Liam knew, but Liam was still Liam and Louis was still Louis and that other stuff didn’t change a thing. And realizing that someone knew outside of the little bubble that had just been Harry and Louis for the past few months, it made everything so much more  _real_.   
  
Telling his mum had been one thing; it had made it official, made things easier, had unwound a knot in his chest that had been tied there for far too many years. Having Stan find out had been another thing; it was nice to have a friend who knew and really didn’t mind.   
  
But his mother and Stan weren’t people he saw everyday. Liam was.   
  
He didn’t know how much Liam knew, but he knew something and that changed… It changed a lot of things. It made everything real and alive and so very much in the present. It made it no longer something he could turn off and say, “It was just for experiment.”   
  
And Louis knew, down in his gut, in his heart, in the farthest corners of his mind, that it wasn’t some experiment. It really, really wasn’t, not any more.   
  
“But you know,” Stan spoke up a minute later, a rumble of laughter undercoating his words, “I really wish it hadn’t been so anticlimactic, Liam finding out I mean. He just found out and what? That’s it? He smiles his Liam smile and moves on with his obnoxiously too nice demeanor? Bor _ing_!” He nearly sang. “Honestly, where’s the drama?”   
  
“I’d really prefer there to be none,” Louis countered, voice quiet as he tore up the wrapper to his straw a few times too many.   
  
His friend sighed, but a grin was still plastered to his face. “I don’t mean, like, career-breaking drama or that shit you throw down on Twitter sometimes. I just mean, like,  _c’mon_ , you can’t just up and decide you’re in love with your band mate and have there be no drama in the aftermath. That’s totally unrealistic.”   
  
“I never said I was in love with him.”   
  
Stan only raised a brow, to which Louis swallowed thickly and ducked his head to hide a fiery blush.   
  
“No, but seriously, Louis. I don’t even mean there has to be shit going down drama, like I’m not asking for fights and flying toasters and curses so bad a sailor would be proud. I just mean there should be  _some_  element of drama. I mean, Louis,” Stan snorted, “this is  _you_  we’re talking about. Drama’s been tattooed on your forehead since before I met you.”   
  
A little smirk curled up the corner of Louis’ mouth; Stan was right, after all. Louis had always been one for the dramatics. “But I don’t think—”   
  
“I’m not saying for you to come out on stage in front of thousands,” Stan amended, shaking his head. “That’d be insane and possibly traumatic and really too cheesy, to be honest.”   
  
“And a horrible idea.”   
  
“Right, and a really fucking horrible idea,” his friend agreed. “But come on, put on at least a bit of the dramatics when Zayn and Niall find out? Please? For me? I wanna see that Irish bugger’s eyes pop at least a little.”   
  
“Like what, then?”   
  
“I don’t know.” Stan shrugged and sucked up the last of his shake, slurping loudly at the bottom of his glass. “Surprise ‘em. Catch ‘em off guard, at the least. Spontaneous, spur of the moment, all that shit.”   
  
It was a dastardly plan, really, if it could even be called such. It was more of an idea than anything else, but it was something Louis could implement whenever he was ready. Whenever he was ready for the others to know.  
  


**

  
  
The boys were backstage just before show time that night. Stan was hanging around, too, always loving to catch a glimpse of them darting on stage before going to watch from the actual crowd.   
  
They were on standby. The band was already set. The crowd was chanting for them, the fans screaming, and they were all getting jittery just waiting, like they always did. It was an adrenaline rush, no doubt, hearing all that noise  _just for you_ , but it was simultaneously nerve-wracking and they all shared equally nervous but excited grins.   
  
It was always like this backstage, all pent-up energy just waiting to burst.  
  
And it was in the midst of this, in the midst of this eager energy, in the midst of these wrecking nerves, under the drowning noise of the crowd, when Louis took a deep breath, sighed out a muttered, “ _For fuck’s sake_ ,” and yanked Harry toward him with a fistful of the front of his shirt, slamming their lips together.   
  
Louis swore he could hear sharp intakes of air around him, thought he could hear Stan cackling, thought he could feel two very wide sets of eyes on him, but he couldn’t be sure.   
  
He was sure, however, about the way Harry relaxed into the kiss, about the hands that settled on his hips, fingers curling instinctually. He was sure about the grin that conquered Harry’s lips, as they broke just far enough apart to rest their foreheads together.   
  
And he was sure, when he heard Niall laugh and say, “‘Bout bloody damn time!”   
  
Harry laughed, breath warm against Louis’ cheek, and Louis was sure it was one of his favorite moments—the way Harry’s eyes seemed alight with pride and happiness, swelling with elation.   
  
They shared another kiss before running on stage just a minute later; Zayn squeezed their shoulders as he passed, silently sharing his sentiments; Niall shook his head with a stupidly wide grin as they took their spots; Liam greeted the arena with unprecedented enthusiasm, and Louis was sure everything would be okay.


	16. If We Were Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter... Oh boy. Epilogue to follow in a few days. :)

“You lot suck, I’m going home.”

Harry laughed as Stan made to get up and leave, but Louis was already tugging his friend back down to the couch, keeping him from taking another step toward the door. “You’re not going anywhere yet, Stanley,” Louis told him, voice gruff. 

“Fine,” Stan assented but crossed his arms against his chest. “I’m just disappointed. All that and no fucking fall out or dramatics or _anything_. It’s deplorable, really. Nonsense.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Louis mumbled, amusement filling his words as he leaned into Harry’s side. 

“I’m just saying!” Stan huffed a sigh. “What kind of universe are we living in that _two_ members in one pop group end up gay – _for each other_ – and their band mates barely bat an eye. Honestly, though. There was so much potential for good drama and it was all just wasted! This is unacceptable.”

“Would it help if I throw something?” Zayn piped up from the other couch, his lips tugged high into a smirk. 

“I could tell them they’re ruining this family,” Niall offered. 

Liam smiled, sparing a glance up from his phone. “We could kick them out for the night, say we need a bit of time to adjust.”

Stan considered it for a moment, almost smiling at the idea, but ultimately fell back into the couch with a heavy sigh. “No, no, no, it wouldn’t be the same,” he lamented with a hanging head. “It’s too late now.” 

“Sorry our mates are too understanding?” Louis offered up with a slight laugh, though Harry could tell he was relieved over this fact, knew it was one of the things that had frightened Louis the most. Knowing this, Harry pulled Louis a little closer to his side, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Oh now you’re gonna make me feel bad about it, aren’t you?” Stan asked and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. He lowered his voice as he added, “I’m _glad_ your friends are understanding about this, okay? You know I am, Lou, I just—”

“Wish there’d been a huge climactic moment of fall out?” Louis supplied and cracked a grin to let his friend know he was only pulling his leg. 

Stan grinned then, too. “Right,” he agreed. “Like seriously, shouldn’t at least one of you be a little squicked out?”

Liam, Zayn, and Niall all shrugged.

Stan scoffed. “I blame Lance Bass for this whole gay boy bander acceptance bullshit, and I sincerely hope you three walk in on these two in compromising positions. All the time. Karma’s a bitch, right? It’ll serve you right, it will.” 

**

Harry and Louis both had laughed at Stan’s words, because it’s not like the other lads had walked in on them with girls before then. All of the boys had a sense of privacy that they fully respected and they knew when someone wanted to be alone. 

Yet, somehow, Harry had lost count of the number of times Niall had just stumbled through the room at exactly the wrong moment, or the times Zayn had used the spare key to pop into their flat to borrow something and ended up with an eyeful of buttocks, or how often Liam had impeccable timing with his phone calls. 

And really, with a running track record like that, Harry maybe should have been used to it, regardless of the occasion—fooling around on the sofa, impromptu snogging post-show, footsie accidentally taking a wrong turn at dinner… 

Well, Stan would be proud, least be said. 

(And he gloated as much, whenever Louis would send off a text or a give him a quick ring just to tell him he’s an _utter arsehole_. Stan would only laugh.)

**

It was a Thursday night and he and Louis had opted to spend the evening in after a long day of planning meetings—just a lot of talk about what their itinerary looked like for the next couple months, what was on their plate, giving their future goals a more tangible shape. Those meetings were always dry and long and exhausting, but exciting all the same, and each of the boys somehow still managed to grin through their yawns. 

A tiny smile still clung to Louis’ lips later that evening as he curled up against Harry on the sofa, head against the younger boy’s chest, Harry’s lanky arms draped around his smaller frame. They had the _IT Crowd_ playing through its seasons on Netflix, the laugh track soft in the room. Harry could tell Louis was paying the show just about as much mind as he was—not much at all, just eyes blankly sweeping over the screen and chuckles easily sliding out whenever fitting. 

It was only partway through an episode, at a low point in the show, when Louis turned his head. He perched his chin against Harry’s sternum, bright eyes skirting across Harry’s features, lips soft with a gentle smile. 

“What?” Harry wondered after a moment, a breathy laugh following the word. 

Louis shook his head lightly. “Just thinking,” he said. 

“Always a dangerous thing.” Harry grinned, kneading his fingers into the base of Louis’ spine. 

“Always a brilliant thing and you know it,” Louis countered with a smirk. “Look what happened the last time I was _just thinking_ —you somehow ended up my guinea pig.” 

“Right, right, your guinea pig.” The younger boy chuckled and let his fingers fan out across the older boy’s lower back, spanning the entire width from hip to hip. He smiled before questioning, “How’s that working out for you, anyway? Good experimental run?” 

The smile grew on Louis’ lips, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, it’s been alright, I guess,” he answered, managing a slight shrug. “The guinea pig has turned out to be an exceptionally well-educated subject. Quite a sap at times, but he’s kind of cute. Don’t think I could have asked for someone better, really.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, heart hammering in his chest. Louis could probably feel it speeding up, but he didn’t really mind it; he thought he could feel Louis’ heart racing, too, thought he could feel their hearts thumping together, chest to chest. 

“Yeah,” Louis told him, adding a nod for emphasis. “But.” 

“But?” 

“ _But_ ,” Louis repeated and squirmed a bit against Harry, shifting until their faces were in line, until his breath came out warm against Harry’s chin. His smile fell to a smirk when he finally continued, “There’s this thing we failed to test with the guinea pig. It’s a shame too, really, since the subject came with such astounding letters of recommendation. Or, claims, rather. Lots of claims. Printed all over magazines, filling headlines to the point where the subject’s mother has stopped reading magazines altogether.” 

Harry groaned, feeling his cheeks darken. “Did you really have to bring my mum into this conversation?” 

“Harry,” Louis laughed, tiny and sweet, “your mum knows more about your sex life than any mother should. It’s horrifying.” 

“ _No_ ,” Harry corrected with a firm tone and steady hands on Louis’ sides, “she knows too much about my media sex life, not my actual sex life.” 

“There’s a difference?” 

“There’s a difference.” 

“Like?” 

“Like one has quite a lot of lies, and the other.” Harry paused, grinning, and squeezed his grip around Louis’ hips, pulling him a little closer. “Has quite a lot of boys.” 

“A lot of boys?” Louis repeated, and his smile seemed to twitch, faltering for just a second. 

Harry shrugged against the sofa. There had been quite a lot of boys over the years, random and sparse, only when privacy allowed it, he couldn’t lie about that. He’d told Louis about that one night, when the older boy had asked, curious because Harry _had_ claimed not to be into blokes—and well, that had been partially true, partially false. Harry was into a lot of things; Harry was into people, regardless of where they fit themselves along any gender spectrum. So he wasn’t just into girls or just into guys, and that meant there had been quite a range of people he’d seen throughout the years. There had a been a lot of girls he’d been seen with, a lot just for the camera, a lot because he wanted to see them. There had, though, also been a lot of guys he’d snuck off with, well out of sight, security letting him go so long as he didn’t draw any attention. 

So of course there had been a lot of boys, Louis already knew that, but Harry followed his shrug with, “Quite a few boys, here and there. Before.” 

The older boy lifted a brow. “Before?” 

“Mm,” Harry hummed, allowing a smile to fall into place as he leaned forward. He brushed his nose against Louis’ cheek, let his lips purse against the soft skin and his words fall with a kiss. “It’s just one boy now.” 

“Just one, huh?” Louis echoed, his voice just barely a whisper. “And your mum, does she know about this boy?” 

Harry chuckled, all warm breaths against Louis’ skin. “She knows, yeah. Probably knows more about him than she’d like to, but I think she’s okay with that. She loves him, anyway.” He could feel Louis’ smile against him, could feel the heat rising to the older boy’s cheeks. 

“Did you tell her about any of the other boys?” Louis asked then, and the way he said it, his voice softer, hesitant, almost like he was afraid of the answer, had Harry’s stomach flip-flopping. He kissed Louis a moment later, unrestrained, pulling him close, and Harry didn’t have to lie when he told him, “None of them were ever important enough to mention.” 

Louis pulled back just far enough to meet Harry’s eyes. Blue jumped across skin, bouncing from forehead to nose to chin to cheek to cheek before falling into green with a wry smile. “Yeah?” he wondered, soft as a feather. 

“Yeah,” Harry affirmed, his lips peeling into a grin that only widened as hands snuck beneath his shirt and fingers fanned wide against his ribs. Louis kissed him hard with a smile, and Harry didn’t put up a fight when the older boy tugged his shirt up and over his curls or when he shed his own just as quickly. He didn’t try to slow things down as hips pressed down firmly against his, rocking, rocking, rocking him into the cushions, silent but somehow loud—powerful in a way that demanded attention, and Harry was more than willing to give it. He gripped at warm skin that only got hotter with every minute, pressed his lips down the column of Louis’ neck to his collarbone, shivered when a cold hand ghosted across the curve of his hip and sank beneath the waistband of his pants. 

It felt rushed, the way their hands moved around, the rush of the lips that scattered across skin in mindless patterns and latched on at random places, sucking enough to leave behind marks. It felt rushed, caught up in the heat, in the speed of it all, but time itself seemed to slow. When their lips rejoined minutes later, jeans kicked off toward the end of the couch, chests warm against each other, time seemed to lose itself between them in languid motions and beating hearts. 

Louis rutted down against him, hips grinding into Harry’s with intent. Harry could feel the outline of Louis’ dick against his thigh, could feel himself twitching with anticipation, and he pushed up off the couch just enough to create more contact. 

“Can we,” Louis breathed against Harry’s neck, just below his ear, “do you think we could test that one last thing?” 

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, his hands guiding Louis’ hips back to his own. “I think we can manage that, yeah,” he said, but a moment later he wondered cautiously, “are you… you sure, though? I mean I don’t want you to—” 

“Haz,” Louis cut him off, a shrill laugh breaking through his words. The older boy pulled away until he could meet Harry’s eyes, and he looked anything but scared. Nervous, maybe, just a slight tinge of uncertainty hiding in the corner of his smile, but his features were too relaxed to be scared, his pupils blown too wide, the curve of his smirk too devious. And when he kissed Harry again seconds later, he slammed their lips together too directly to be unsure. Harry parted his lips without hesitation, deepening the kiss and pulling Louis closer and closer until there was barely any space left between them whatsoever. 

But Louis untangled himself, laughing gently as he pulled away and slid off Harry and the sofa altogether. “C’mon,” he said, cocking his head toward the hallway. His lips were painted with a smile, his hair mussed into a mess, and his boxers were doing little to hide his excitement, but the older boy didn’t seem too self-conscious about it at all. He just grinned even wider at Harry’s confusion and grabbed the younger boy’s wrist, yanking him from the sofa. “Come on, Harry. I refuse to fuck you on the sofa, alright? I’ve got some standards, you know.” 

Harry blinked at him, hard—once, twice, three times—before the words registered with his brain, and then he was crowding Louis out of the living room and into the hallway. He wrapped his arms snug around Louis’ middle, pulling him back close against his chest. They stumbled down the hall like that, lips catching on skin and their footing lost in a mess of excitement. It was silly and pointless, but Harry needed the physical contact right then, needed Louis against him, and he liked the way Louis fit—falling against him without effort, letting them stumble across the carpeted floors without protest. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis coughed out between laughs. “Can’t we just walk to the bedroom like normal people?” His footing stumbled, but he didn’t try to get away, not even a little. Maybe he liked it, the absurdity of it all. 

Harry snorted. “ _Normal_ ,” he said, the word falling out like a joke. He nosed his way against Louis’ hair and smiled a kiss just behind his ear, pausing their progression for a moment. “I don’t think any of us would be here if we were normal, do you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Harry hummed out the word, licking it against Louis’ skin like a purr, “We wouldn’t have spent all day in meetings, talking about touring in _America_ , if we were normal, would we?” 

He could hear the smile in Louis’ voice when he replied, “I guess not.” 

Harry smiled, too, his lips curving with the line of Louis’ neck. “Wouldn’t have this flat together in London, would we?” 

Louis squirmed in Harry’s grip, but he didn’t make to move away, again; he moved back closer, pulling Harry’s arms closer around his middle. “Wouldn’t be in a stupid boy band either, I don’t think,” Louis added, his own voice low, buried in his throat. 

Harry felt his stomach swoop, felt like it was bottoming out. He pulled Louis impossibly closer and finally let them take another step forward, and another. “Right,” he agreed, his fingers crawling beneath the elastic of Louis’ boxers, “wouldn’t have been put into a band at all if we were normal.” They took another step, feet brushing. “Wouldn’t have made it through X-Factor.” 

“Wouldn’t have made it _on_ X-Factor,” Louis countered and took the moment to turn around in Harry’s arms, even as they continued moving down the hall. Harry guided the both of them and didn’t hesitate before making the turn into Louis’ bedroom—his own bedroom didn’t even feel like his anymore, if he ever stopped to think about it. 

He didn’t stop to think about it then, though, not with his best mate practically naked in his arms. 

Rather, he continued another few steps into the room, his eyes locked with Louis’ the whole time. It was dark, just some light from the streetlamps filtering through the curtains, casting half of Louis’ face in shadows. Harry traced the hidden part of the older boy’s face, the pads of his fingers trailing across familiar features. 

“Pretty sure if we were normal,” Harry started again when he felt Louis smile beneath his fingertips, “I wouldn’t have ever met you.” 

Louis didn’t say anything at first, maybe his response was stuck in his throat or maybe he just didn’t have anything to say, maybe he couldn’t find the will to do anything but stare at Harry in the dim light. _Maybe_ , Harry thought. 

But then Louis was pulling Harry back toward the bed and knocking the younger boy to the mattress. “Do you always ruin moments like this with sentimental bullshit?” he asked, head tilted but a small smile playing on his lips. 

“You love my sentimental bullshit,” Harry murmured and kicked Louis’ leg with his foot. 

The older boy hummed a teasing tone before crawling onto the bed over Harry. He caged the younger boy in, legs snug around his hips, arms falling into place on either side of his head. His lips splayed into a wide grin, and he nudged against Harry’s cheek with his nose, breathing in. “Guess you’re right,” he agreed, words hot against Harry’s skin. “Sometimes I do, but right now…” 

“Right now?” 

“Right now,” Louis repeated and finished his thought without anymore words at all. Instead, his lips crashed against Harry’s to keep even another word from falling, and his fingers found the empty spaces between Harry’s, squeezing and pulling him in. 

And Harry, Harry let it all happen—he let Louis pull the words from his lips, let any others fall down his tongue. He let Louis lick into his mouth, feel every surface. He let Louis feel him over, every inch, first with his hands, fingers drumming over skin, and then with his mouth, sucking marks against an open canvas. He let Louis kiss down the column of his neck, lips ghosting across his chest, his torso, the outline of his hips. He let Louis roll his boxers down, teeth grazing against his thigh, and he didn’t hesitate to return the action, fingers mindlessly pushing away fabric until there was nothing left between them. 

He let Louis swallow him whole, as much as he could, let him trace down the underside of his cock with his tongue, let his fingers touch the places his lips couldn’t. He let Louis keep going until he was getting too close, and then he nudged him away, not wanting to be done quite yet. 

He let Louis pull away, let him instead focus his attention elsewhere. He let Louis spread him out and open him up, one slicked up finger after the other, little by little, welcoming the slight discomfort he hadn’t felt in far too long. He let Louis keep going until he was well and ready, until their lips were bruised. 

He let Louis pull his legs up, knees locked over elbows, just as he pushed in—carefully, almost shyly, with steady hands and whispered encouragements that got lost beneath a moan. He let Louis pull out just to push back in, again and again and again. He let Louis guide him, his hands a solid weight on Harry’s hips, firm and pressing, thumbs sure to leave a mark. He let Louis kiss him, hard and bruising, but he also kissed Louis back, just as hard, just as needing. 

He also felt Louis over, fingers pressing into as much skin as they could, lips sucking marks wherever they could reach. He also drew Louis close and breathed him in, meeting each of Louis’ pushes with a thrust of his own. He matched Louis’ moans with noises just as low, just as rough, just as wrecked, and drowned the rest with his tongue caught around Louis’. 

He let Louis go when his world started to blur too much, falling into a mess of skin and hot breaths and something too bright to see past. With only one more touch he was done, and Louis followed moments—minutes?—later, coming with a gasp of Harry’s name against his neck. 

The older boy collapsed, pulling out to fall fully against him. Their limbs were slick with sweat, skin sticky hot, breaths still coming too quickly, but Harry held Louis close all the same. His chest was heaving and Louis looked at him with a little grin, mischief reigning across his lips as he shook against Harry with laughter tucked against his skin. The younger boy knew the laughter wasn’t malicious, wasn’t poking fun. He knew it was just Louis coming down, his world still spinning, running on exhilaration too fast for reality. So he laughed along with Louis and pressed a kiss to his hairline once their world settled back into place, and Louis slid off of him only to curl back up right against his side. 

“Alright?” Harry eventually breathed out. It felt like hours later, but his skin was still hot, his body too languid for much time to have passed. 

Louis grinned, wide and somehow sheepish as he buried a laugh into Harry’s neck. “Yeah, alright,” he said. “Brill, really.” 

Harry pulled far enough away to meet Louis’ gaze, eyes just barely glistening in the darkness. “Yeah?” he wondered, a whole lot more riding on that one word than either boy was willing to voice aloud. 

But Louis seemed to get it now, even if he didn’t always before, even if there were times when the older boy seemed like he didn’t get it at all, like he was trying to push away, still uncertain of this all, still not coming to terms with himself. But the averted gazes and half-there smiles were gradually—but surely—becoming a thing of the past, and when Louis looked to Harry then, eyes bright in the darkness, smile noticeable even in the night, Harry knew he got it. 

“Yeah,” was all Louis echoed, one casual word loaded with so much more. 

And that was enough, would always be enough, Harry thought and pulled Louis close for a kiss before falling with him into slumber. 

**

Harry had only ever taken one person home to meet his mum. 

He had been fourteen and the girl’s name was Iris. She had short blond hair, eyes the color of caramel, and a breathy giggle of a laugh that rarely ever made any noise at all. He had asked her to go see the new superhero film that was out, and her friends had laughed at him, but she’d said yes anyway. He took her to dinner—just this burger place in town, nothing fancy—the next night, and then to the arcade the day after. The following week she invited him over three nights in a row, and when Harry’s mum finally weaseled it out of him about where he kept running off to, he really had no choice but to introduce them. 

It had been nerve-wracking. He still remembered the sweaty palms and the way his throat itched all afternoon and how his voice had cracked when he said Iris’ name in front of his mum. Anne hadn’t gone out of her way to embarrass him, though; she’d just grinned and pulled Iris into a polite hug before offering her a cup of tea. The rest of the afternoon had progressed with small bouts of chatter and Anne eventually leaving the living room to them to watch a comedy program on the telly. It had been nice, doused with a pinch of awkward, but nothing too bad. 

Bringing Louis home to see his mum was something in a league of its own. 

Well. 

Part of that was due to the fact that Anne already knew Louis. Harry remembered the first time he’d brought Louis home, too, just a couple weeks after the end of X-Factor. Louis had wrapped Anne in a too-tight hug, entered the house like it was his own, and was calling her “Mum” by the end of the night. There had been no awkward silences or need for small talk to pass the time. Anne and Louis had joked along right from the start, and Anne took to calling Louis her son by the end of the weekend.

This was different, though. Anne and Louis might already have been well-acquainted, but this was like turning over a new leaf of its own. Harry wasn’t just bringing his new mate Louis home to meet his mum; Harry was bringing his _boyfriend_ Louis home to see his mum—and that had Harry jiggling his leg the entire drive home. 

“Hey,” Louis finally interrupted Harry’s thoughts. He slid his hand down Harry’s leg, just enough pressure on his knee to make the bouncing stop. 

Harry sent Louis a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“Y’alright?” Louis wondered and narrowed his eyes, worried. “You’ve been jittery the whole trip. What’s up?”

“Nothing, it’s fine— _I’m_ fine,” Harry insisted, but his throat was itching and the car suddenly felt too hot. He cracked the window just an inch and took a deep breath before sparing Louis a glance. 

The older boy had a brow raised, though his lips were pinched with amusement. “Fine, huh?” 

Harry deflated and turned his eyes back to the road, letting a minute roll by before pulling together some sort of explanation for the whirlwind of thoughts clouding his mind. “It’s nothing,” he finally stated, which. Yeah. _Right_. He shook his head before Louis could call him out on it, corrected, “It’s just…. Mum hasn’t seen you since you and I started, like, erm, seeing each other? Or whatever. I just, I, I don’t know. Are things going to be weird?” He stole a glance toward Louis then, just for a moment, and couldn’t help the frown that turned down his lips. “I don’t want things to be weird, Lou.” 

“You’re nervous,” Louis settled with a slight breath of a laugh, sounding something like amazed—like he could never quite get his head around the idea that Harry could even _be_ nervous. 

Harry was definitely nervous, though, if his white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel and the uneasy feeling swirling around his stomach were anything to go by. He swallowed down a lump and managed a twitch of a smile. “A bit, yeah,” he mumbled, shrugging. “I’m just—”

“Worried over nothing,” Louis finished and grinned. He squeezed Harry’s leg for emphasis, told him, “It’ll be fine. Anne loves me, anyway.” 

Harry couldn’t deny that. “I know, she does, but, like…”

“But, what?” Louis asked, tone clipped. 

“But I’ve never,” Harry paused, took a deep breath, let it out long and slow. “You’re the first… You’re the first boyfriend, okay, and the first person I’ve brought home all proper like this, where we’re both on the same page and my mum actually _knows_ about you ahead of time, and it’s… It’s new, alright?” 

Louis didn’t respond, and time seemed to tick by so painfully slowly in the silence that followed that Harry had no choice but to break his eyes away from the road. He found Louis staring at him with a bitten lip, eyes shining in the morning sunlight. “What?” he asked, flicking his gaze back to the traffic around them. 

“Nothing,” Louis said, shaking his head, but his smile was still too wide for it be nothing. 

“Lou.”

The older boy sighed, though it was light, like a laugh without enough air. “Nothing important,” he reiterated. “I just happen to really want to kiss you right now, but that’d put both of our lives in danger, so. Best not, yeah.” 

Harry laughed this time, a bewildered sound as he glanced toward Louis for all of a second. “Okay?” 

Louis’ smile grew into a grin, and it was a rare thing, Harry thought, seeing the older boy this confident, saying direct things like that without hesitance. Usually he was the one who avoided eye contact and had to be asked five times before finally admitting _yeah, alright, so maybe I want to kiss you right now, if that’s alright_ —even when they were completely alone, just the two of them. 

A blush still colored the older boy’s cheeks, though, the skin turning a sweet pink, and Harry had to look away. He dropped one hand from the steering wheel, lacing his fingers with Louis’, and let out an easier laugh. “Guess that means you think everything will be okay?” he asked, eyes jumping from the road. 

“That means everything _will_ be okay, and I think it’s adorable you’re so nervous about it,” Louis told him, ending in more of a murmur than anything else as he looked away. 

Harry bit back a smile and gave the older boy’s hand a tight squeeze, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen. 

**

Louis was right, though – Harry had nothing to worry about. 

“Oh, my _baby_ ,” Anne had cooed and pulled Harry into a tight hug as soon as the door opened. Louis sank back at first, just smiling on with one hand in his pocket and the other toying with the strap of his overnight bag. But then Anne reached out an arm and tugged him into the embrace, letting out an exasperated, “Get in here, you bugger.” 

Louis let out an _oomph_ but stumbled in without resistance, sliding into place alongside Harry and Anne like he fit there all along. Harry felt his chest tighten with the thought, but he tucked the idea away, swallowed down the words that fluttered across his tongue. 

“Now c’mon,” Anne stopped then, pulling away from them both with a wide grin. “Inside, you two. I’m obligated to have a proper conversation with my son’s boyfriend, least according to Gems.” 

Harry bit back his smile, but, “Gemma?” he wondered, following them into the house. “She here?” 

“Oh, no, no.” Anne waved a hand, shaking her head. “No, your sister’s much too busy to spend her weekends home with her old _mum_.” She laughed, took a seat at the end of the sofa, and patted the cushion beside her. “But she insists I have to treat Louis like I would any boy she brings home, so, come, sit, let me reveal every embarrassing facet of my son to you.”

Louis grinned, an easier smile than Harry had expected to see so soon. “‘Fraid I already know most all of that, Anne.” 

“Mm,” Anne hummed, smiling softly. “Suppose you’re right. No need for me to tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories when you’ve been living with the boy for this long.” 

“Exactly,” Louis said. “This one of yours adds a new story to his Embarrassing Tales everyday, Anne.” 

Harry flushed at the claim but didn’t bother fighting it; his mother and Louis would just go on listing moment after moment if he tried to deny it. Instead, he draped his arm along the back of the sofa, fingers just brushing Louis’ shoulder, and shrugged his response, “Yeah, but you guys love me, anyway.” 

And Louis smiled at him, lips closed but smile full all the same, and it reached all the way up to his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice something soft, “yeah, we love you anyway.” 

Their eyes held for just a moment too long in the living room that Saturday afternoon, and Anne might have been staring on with a knowing look in her eye, but neither Harry nor Louis took notice of it, nor would they for some time. 

But it was one of those moments, when the rest of the world seemed to fall away for just a handful of seconds in time, and there was no thought of the past or worry of the future. There was no regret about waiting too long to speak up or any remaining confusion about where they were and what they were doing. It was just the two of them, more aware like they were finally coming to, floating in that moment, falling into each other in a way neither had quite ever anticipated, and Harry thought that was alright. 

Harry thought that was just fine. 

So he smiled a little wider, dimple denting an entire crater into his cheek, and pulled Louis in a little closer, arm snug around his shoulders. He only looked away when his mother cleared her throat. 

“So, Louis,” Anne started, grinning just as widely as her son, “you may have heard a lot, but did I ever tell you about the time when Harry was convinced he could drown in the ball pit?” 

Louis chuckled, the sound ringing like a familiar song in Harry’s ears, and spared the younger boy a quick glance before turning away. A smirk played with his lips when he replied, “No, don’t think I’ve heard that one yet.” 

Anne’s grin seemed to widen, and she just parted her lips to recount the tale when—

“Maybe it can wait until after tea?” Harry interrupted, soft tones with an undercurrent of hope. Two sets of curious eyes turned on him, and he felt his cheeks flooding with heat as he blinked away and then right back. “I mean,” he clarified, “we’ve got time, don’t we?” 

Anne nodded, already standing from the sofa and heading toward the kitchen, but Louis held back just a second. “Yeah,” he said, his hand finding Harry’s to pull him from the sofa. He wove his fingers around the younger boy’s and met his lingering gaze with a broad, blinding smile. “We’ve got time, Harry. We’ve got tons of it.” 


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's followed along with me throughout this story and to those who have just joined. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. :)

Epilogue

It was odd, Louis sometimes thought.

It was odd because there were times, little blips in time, when he couldn’t quite fathom how or when, exactly, he had gotten to where he was. Of course he could go through and list all of the big moments—his first time singing in front of a crowd other than his family, trying out for his school’s musical, auditioning for X-Factor, meeting Harry, meeting the boys, making it through the show, above and beyond everyone’s expectations—moments he was sure he would never forget. But there were times when, even with all of these memories tucked neatly away, he couldn’t really believe he was here.

Usually those moments came on stage, lost in one of their performances in front of a crowd too big to count. But, you see, those moments started coming along at different times now, too, sometimes in front of a crowd of only one.

Sometimes it was like he was drowning, senses overwhelmed, in a mess of brown curls and mossy jade eyes, fitting alongside large limbs everywhere he looked. It was shocking some days, sobering in a way, like a reminder of sorts. But at the same time, he often forgot what it was like beforehand, before he had finally come out to Harry before any of the other boys, before Harry had proposed he use him like a guinea pig in a silly experiment—before he had agreed to take part and had, sequentially, given his heart to a boy with a smile too wide.

It was odd, because Louis couldn’t quite pin down the day or time when _his_ world had shifted into _theirs_.

It was odd, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

**

There was something bittersweet in being out.

Well, partially out, which was as much as the circumstances would allow. And both Louis and Harry understood that. They understood that things like this could take time and planning. Some things you can’t just up and say whenever you please. They call it “dropping a bomb” for a reason—there’s always damage and pieces to be picked up, bits that will inevitably need fixing after the fact. All of this, they knew, was emphasized and blown out of proportion when fame was thrown into the mix.

So maybe only the rest of the band and the closest members of their crew knew the truth, but it was enough.

Most of the time.

There were days when Harry walked away fuming because, “ _It’s just not bloody fair!_ ” and far more days when Louis looked upon the younger boy with a special kind of fondness from afar because that’s all he was allowed in the public eye. It wasn’t the best or happiest of arrangements, but Louis knew fame was nothing if not a game of give and take.

Eleanor remained a seemingly permanent figure in his life. She stuck around, continued to walk in the spotlight as Louis’ girlfriend, and it was all an image and it was fine. It was. But that didn’t keep Harry from littering Louis’ skin with marks whenever the older boy returned from keeping up appearances. It was maddening at times, but they made it work. They swallowed their truths when needed, bit back the immediate response, and let it all loose once they were alone.

There were days, certain times, when they wanted to throw in the towel—not with each other but with their arrangement. The number of times they had considered just pushing things a little too far, considered saying _fuck it_ and stepping out, no pretense in sight, was too high to count. But it wasn’t quite as high as the number of times they merely lost track of when to hide. But they were always quick to remember, or someone else was quick to remind them, and their smiles shrank by just the smallest of fractions in those moments.

Those were the bitter parts—the parts they couldn’t control, the parts they had to adhere to, at least for now.

But around the bitter parts, fell the sweet parts.

Those were the parts where they didn’t have to worry, where they didn’t have to keep their eyes peeled for sneaky paparazzi or clever fans. The sweet parts were the times when they didn’t have to hold back—times like when they snuck off to Harry’s stepfather’s bungalow for a long weekend getaway, between the Australian and American legs of their tour.

They drove out so early in the morning they beat the sun. The sky was still dripping in hues of grey when they crept inside, moving on quiet feet like they were afraid to wake the world. There was a delicate atmosphere hanging around them as they settled in, the air fragile as they unpacked, stashing clothes into drawers, knuckles brushing as they went. It stayed up until the point when Harry tripped over one of the throw rugs, barely managing to stay afoot even with the help of the dresser for balance. He let out a yelp when it happened and met Louis’ eyes as soon as the older boy glanced his way.

Louis watched on as Harry balanced himself, feet turned in but legs spread too far apart as he hung onto the edge of the dresser to stabilize himself. If he thought the younger boy looked like a stumbling fawn, he definitely kept the thought to himself. “You alright?” he asked aloud instead, biting back a giggle.

Harry glared at his feet for a moment but nodded. “‘M fine,” he answered without looking up from the floor. But he must have sensed something because he glanced upward just a second later, eyes meeting Louis’ again. His lips quirked, and any tension left, any delicateness, dissipated into laughter, the world waking up around them.

“You,” Louis spoke pointedly a minute later, rounding the end of the bed to stand before Harry, “still need to learn how to walk.”

“It was the stupid rug,” Harry insisted, though his cheeks glowed under a blush.

“Mm,” Louis hummed, but he nudged at the side of the younger boy’s bare foot with his own. “Or maybe it was these stupid pigeon toes of yours.”

The blush darkened along Harry’s cheeks, his smile fading. “I thought you said my pigeon toes were cute,” he murmured.

“They are,” the older boy assured him, even curling his toes against Harry’s for emphasis. “They’re very cute, but they’re also very hazardous to your health. I mean what if you trip over them and fall down the stairs one of these days? Then what?”

Harry offered him a shrug. “You’ll catch me, won’t you?”

Louis snorted. “Yeah, that’s likely.”

“You’ll catch me,” Harry decided and held Louis’ eyes with something like conviction.

Louis didn’t deny him this time, didn’t speak at all. Rather, he hummed a little note, neither a yes or a no, and smiled something small and hidden.

Like a secret was tucked away in the corner of Louis’ lips, Harry had to ask, “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing.” Louis shrugged, let a hand settle on Harry’s hip, let his smile grow. “Just… This is the first time we’ve been alone since February, you realize that?”

“I realize that,” Harry told him, a smile stealing his lips as well.

“Like,” Louis lowered his voice, breathing out a tiny grin, “ _proper_ alone.”

“I realize that, too.”

“Then why aren’t you kissing me?”

Harry blinked at him, fighting off another smile. “Thought part of my duties as your guinea pig were to teach you moderation,” he said, shrugging through a smirk.

“Moderation, huh? Well.” Louis let out a sigh, taking a moment to arrange himself more naturally around the younger boy, arms circling around his back. “What if we go all out this weekend, caution to the wind and all that, and limit ourselves once we get back? How does that sound?”

Harry’s lips curved back into a wide smile. “I think,” he breathed out the words, soft against Louis’ lips, “that sounds like a perfect plan.”

“Fantastic,” Louis replied and hummed the rest of his sentiments into a kiss, letting them fall against Harry’s tongue, lost between their lips. And it was something else, not having to hold back, not having to swallow down a groan or bite a moan into a pillow in fear of being too loud for the room next over. It was them and only them that long weekend, alone together, lost in the sheets, tangled together in the shower, or stumbling out of the kitchen with flour smeared across their cheeks. No one was there to witness it, no one was there to tell them to be quiet or to settle down, wait until later.

And it was a relief, when they fell onto the sofa together in the middle of the day, lips slick against skin. They fell into each other without any worries about someone walking in at an indecent moment, no rigid schedule making them hurry so they wouldn’t be late to an event.

It was nice, too, taking their time on a Sunday afternoon.

Harry took his time, nosing against Louis’ bare knee, and he kissed down the older boy’s thigh like time were something to be forgotten. And it was, when he flipped the older boy over, pushed him down gently against the cushions, kissed down his back with an open mouth. Louis writhed under Harry’s touch, lost his breath when the younger boy drew a long, wet stripe with his tongue between his cheeks.

Louis breathed out Harry’s name, coughed it out on a moan when Harry circled his hole, breath hot and tongue teasing. He pushed upward, felt Harry’s nose against his ass but forgot about it after another breath, another swipe of the tongue, open lips pressing against him. And then Louis was down against the cushions, rutting, as Harry licked just inside of him.

Louis lost count of how many times, wasn’t able to register anything but the feel of Harry’s tongue, the touch of lips against his skin, and the ache when he got too hard and couldn’t be bothered to wait. He pushed up just enough to wedge a hand between himself and the sofa, fingers wrapping around his cock in a fumbling rush. He pumped in a way that might have otherwise embarrassed him, all fast strokes and quick jerks, but he was too lost to care, too zeroed in on the way that Harry’s tongue made him cry out a moan. It was too much but somehow never enough, all at the same time.

“Harry,” he let out, low and heavy like a warning just before he came. The younger boy paid it no mind, circled Louis’ hole once again before spreading his cheeks wide and licking another hot stripe up between them.

But then he didn’t go back. Lips pressed open-mouthed kisses, wet and sloppy, at the bottom of Louis’ spine before tracing the curve of his back all the way up to the base of his neck. Harry stretched out against him, gently covering Louis, limb for limb. Louis could feel the younger boy’s dick against his ass, and he groaned into the sofa at the touch, finally letting go of himself, but was too spent to do a thing about it.

“Enjoy yourself?” Harry asked, words teasing against Louis’ ear, accompanied by a purr of laughter.

“It was alright,” Louis replied in as indifferent a voice as he could manage.

“Mm,” Harry laughed, nose nudging at the skin just behind Louis’ ear. “Just alright?”

Louis managed a smirk, though it was wide and sleepy as he settled back down fully against the sofa. “Might need to try it again sometime,” he said. “Just to be sure.”

Harry laughed again, something soft in Louis’ hair. “I think we can manage that.”

And they did, once more that weekend at the bungalow before they returned to a life without so much privacy, without so much freedom. But with Harry by his side, no more than a glance away and always with a smile to spare, Louis didn’t think he’d change it for the world.

**

It was sometime in the North American leg of their tour, on the road somewhere after California but before Florida, when those three words they both had been holding out on saying finally came out.

Of course, there were times before then, when they were so happy about something that, "I love you," simply fell out. But neither boy ever gave those moments much significance, just as they wouldn't whenever Niall or Zayn would claim, "Oh god, you brought food, I love you so much right now I could actually kiss you." Those moments were different, just misplaced words to express appreciation.

There were other times, like when the five of them were huddled up before a show and Liam would look at them all with a weighted expression and tell them, "I really love you guys, you know that?" Those moments were different, too. The words were true, honest for all of them, but that was a different kind of love, like a love between brothers.

But the time on the road, when Louis and Harry were tangled up in each other and it was just the two of them—that moment was even more different than all the others.

Harry had climbed up into Louis' bunk, and they squeezed into the space together, limbs overlapping. It wasn't the smallest quarters they had ever shared, but it wasn't exactly spacious, either. But after days of touring in cities they couldn't remember the names of, spent in the sun and the summer heat, the two were grateful for any amount of privacy and relax time they could get, even more so with each other.

"Can we go home yet?" Louis started on a sigh, settling in against Harry.

The younger boy hummed against the crown of Louis' head, lips just a gentle pressure. "'M already home," he admitted and pulled Louis just a little bit closer for emphasis.

Louis snorted. "You're so cheesy, you know that, yeah?"

"Yeah, well." Harry smiled a goofy sort of grin and shrugged his shoulder around Louis'. "I think you love me for my cheese, anyway."

"Maybe," was all Louis said as they set up a movie to play on his laptop. He nuzzled in close against the younger boy during the opening credits, already so used to the way they just _fit_. It still amazed him some days, when he took the time to think about how they complemented each other so well—one all long angles, the other all curves; one too warm, the other too cool; one all curls, the other all straightened hairs; where there were large hands and long limbs, the other had small hands to match; where there were broad smiles and large eyes, there were also tiny grins and delicate features; when one was too loud, too boisterous, the other was there with quiet words and a smooth voice to even things out. They fit, that was the thing. It was cliché in more ways than Louis would like to admit, how they fit together like puzzle pieces, two misshapen parts to make one beautiful whole. It was odd and confusing and _wonderful_ , how they meshed together so well so easily, so quickly.

He thought it would take more time, finding a simple thing like this. Some people spend entire lifetimes searching, after all. It shouldn't have been this simple, and maybe it won't be—maybe they'll have their ups and their downs, their good times and bad, but that's all a part of life, isn't it? You take it as it comes.

But one thing kept ringing true for Louis that evening, as he stayed wrapped in Harry's arms in his bunk, his mind reeling, and he said that one thing aloud, whispered it so quietly he wasn't even sure if he had said it at all. "I think I love you," fell from his lips, like a secret finally coming to light.

The movie was playing at a volume soft enough that Louis could hear the slight hitch in Harry's breathing, the sharp little intake of air. He was silent for a few seconds, only his arms tightening around Louis' middle, pulling him closer. "You mean, like..." he started but couldn't seem to finish the thought out loud.

Louis got it, though. He nodded, not daring to turn and look up at the younger boy. He could feel his cheeks burning, and he didn't think he'd be able to find his voice if he met Harry's eyes. But like this, just held in Harry's arms, he was able to answer. "Yeah," he said, cleared his throat for a stronger tone. "Yes, like... Properly in love, I'm pretty sure."

"With me?" Harry asked, his voice dropping like he really couldn't fathom it.

The older boy laughed, all gentle, affectionate tones. “Yes, Harry, that’s kind of how these things work, isn’t it?”

“Don’t know, honestly,” Harry replied quietly, shrugging behind Louis. “I’ve never… Not like this, with you, I mean—I _mean_ I think I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.”

“Yeah?” Louis wondered and finally shifted just enough to meet Harry’s gaze.

The younger boy was staring at him with bright eyes, his lips painted with a smile, dimple intact. “Yeah,” he confirmed, nodding. “Pretty sure I have been for a while, actually.”

“How long’s a while?”

Harry shrugged again, eyes dropping to Louis’ lips. “Don’t know, exactly. Few months, maybe.”

“That is a while,” Louis agreed but didn’t bother admitting he’d felt the same for just as long, maybe longer. It was all new, though, all of this was new and so much of it he had taken so long just to grow comfortable with. And maybe it had taken a while, and maybe more things would take just as long to get used to, but Louis thought that was alright, as long as Harry did, too.

And when the younger boy smiled a little wider and pulled him in for a kiss, Louis was pretty sure Harry didn’t mind at all. In fact, Harry just relaxed into the kiss a little easier than any other, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling against Louis’ lips the entire time, even when they grew a little too caught up in each other.

But “Oi!” Niall interrupted them just a few minutes later, though, shouting up with a kick from the bunk below. “I love you two and all, but can I go a night without hearing it? Please?”

“Sorry, Niall!” both Harry and Louis chimed back in unison, more amused than chagrinned.

Niall called his thanks from below, and Harry shifted more onto his side, smiling as he lined Louis in against the bunk wall. His hand rested low on the older boy’s side, thumb brushing against his hip. “So the experimenter fell for his guinea pig, huh?” Harry asked, cracking a grin.

Louis rolled his eyes, but, “Yeah,” he agreed. “Looks like it.”

“Sounds like the perfect plot for a rom-com, don’t you think?” Harry grinned even wider, maybe even a little pleased.

“We’re not a rom-com, Harry.”

“We definitely could be, though.”

“But we’re not.”

“Could be.”

“You’re ridiculously difficult at times, you know that?”

“Yeah, but.” Harry shrugged, still grinning from ear to ear. “You love me, anyway.”

“Beginning to rethink that, actually.”

“ _Hey_.”

“I was only kidding, Harry.”

“Still rude, Louis.”

“Sorry, love. You were saying?”

“I wasn’t saying anything, really, but… Everything’s sorted, yeah?”

Louis barked out a laugh but nodded all the same. “Yes, Harry, everything’s done and sorted.”

“You’re sure?” Harry asked, just to be sure, just like always.

“I’m sure.” Louis smiled, a soft kind of smile on his lips. His eyes caught Harry’s then and held them with a look that Harry wasn’t sure quite how to place. It was a good look though, he decided, one without any traces of uncertainty or sadness, and that was all Harry had ever wanted for Louis.

It was enough reassurance—more than enough, really.

“Good,” he said, scooting in just a little closer, sliding a foot between Louis’ ankles. “Just making sure.”

Louis smiled back at him, not a hint of mockery hidden in his features, and let his head fall a little nearer to Harry’s on the pillow. “Alright, well,” he started and let a finger run along the collar of Harry’s shirt, “now that _that’s_ sorted… Think you can spare me a kiss or two, guinea pig?”

Harry grinned something wide and unabashed. “Yeah,” he answered, just like he always would, “I think I can manage that.”

* * *

 


End file.
